(New Approaches To Byzantine History and Culture) Dimitris Krallis - Serving Byzantium's Emperors - The Courtly Life and Career of Michael Attaleiates-Palgrave Macmillan (2019) PDF

NEW APPROACHES TO BYZANTINE HISTORY AND CULTURE
Serving Byzantium’s
Emperors
The Cour tly Life and Career of Michael Attaleiates
DIMITRIS KRALLIS
New Approaches to Byzantine History
and Culture
Series Editors
Florin Curta
University of Florida
FL, USA
Leonora Neville
University of Wisconsin Madison
WI, USA
Shaun Tougher
Cardiff University
Cardiff, UK
New Approaches to Byzantine History and Culture publishes high-quality
scholarship on all aspects of Byzantine culture and society from the fourth
to the fifteenth centuries, presenting fresh approaches to key aspects of
Byzantine civilization and new studies of unexplored topics to a broad
academic audience. The series is a venue for both methodologically
innovative work and ground-breaking studies on new topics, seeking to
engage medievalists beyond the narrow confines of Byzantine studies.
The core of the series is original scholarly monographs on various aspects
of Byzantine culture or society, with a particular focus on books that fos-
ter the interdisciplinarity and methodological sophistication of Byzantine
studies. The series editors are interested in works that combine textual
and material sources, that make exemplary use of advanced methods for
the analysis of those sources, and that bring theoretical practices of other
fields, such as gender theory, subaltern studies, religious studies theory,
anthropology, etc. to the study of Byzantine culture and society.
More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14755
Dimitris Krallis
Serving Byzantium’s
Emperors
The Courtly Life and Career
of Michael Attaleiates
Dimitris Krallis
Stavros Niarchos Foundation Centre
for Hellenic Studies
Simon Fraser University
Burnaby, BC, Canada
New Approaches to Byzantine History and Culture

ISBN 978-3-030-04524-1 ISBN 978-3-030-04525-8 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018962359
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
Nature Switzerland AG, part of Springer Nature 2019
This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this
publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are
exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication.
Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published
maps and institutional affiliations.
Cover illustration: © Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy Stock Photo
This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature
Switzerland AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
Therefore since I have received such great blessings… so as to become
a member of the senate, in spite of my humble and foreign background,
and to be enrolled among the elite of the senators (whom the language
of old used to call “aristocrats”), and among the most illustrious of the
civic judges, and to pride myself on public honors, I ought surely to offer
appropriate and worthy gratitude to God the giver of such blessings.
—Michael Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 21
[Our enemy], quills and inkwells in hand, imitated scribbling in tomes,

mocking us as secretaries
—Niketas Choniates, History, p. 594
Preface and Acknowledgements Entwined
Byzantine writers apparently loved lush meadows. To the encomiast

writing about the virtues of an emperor, his object of praise was like a
meadow teeming with flowers, each virtue representing a different
blossom. For the historian too, a book could be a meadow; its pages
bundled pleasant vignettes, all together constituting an appealing land-
scape. Michael Psellos tells us that people jump with joy as they walk
through meadows. Then again, lest the association of history with pleas-
ure offend the more austere among us, the flowers in meadows also
attracted bees and those were useful, utility being a central concern of
the historian.
Like Emperor Konstantinos Monomachos, who was known in the
eleventh century for his gardening prowess and his efforts to repli-
cate nature on the palace grounds, I have sought to create a meadow
of words out of carefully selected and deliberately arranged materials.
The flowers in this meadow are sometimes my ideas but more often
than not the assemblage of other scholars’ wisdom—both medieval and
modern—the plan is mine. Taken as a whole, like a grand vista on a
meadow teeming with flowers of all kinds, this book offers what I hope
is a coherent, academically useful and altogether pleasing way of reading
Byzantine history. In its particulars, it offers vignettes and detail, which
may in turn lead us to the consideration of the whole and spur broader
reflection on the nature of Romanía, the polity of the people we call the
Byzantines.
vii
viii Preface and Acknowledgements Entwined
This book has been a long time coming. It was conceived in late 2006
as parergon, a side project. It was a distraction from the stressful duty to
my professional self, the completion of the first, tenure-granting mono-
graph. And yet, for all that working on it over all these years has given
me hours upon hours of pure joy—a smirk and smile often marking my
face, as I wrote biography and pondered on the reactions of audiences to
Attaleiates’ journey—it also raised a number of uncomfortable questions.
Was another book on this medieval judge necessary? Was returning to
the man I have studied for so long evidence that I was running out of
ideas? Was what is discussed in here derivative?
You hold the book in your hands, which suggests that over time I
came to the following answers to these three questions: yes, no and no.
The book—I tell myself and I hope the reader agrees—is not really about
Attaleiates per se but more broadly about Romanía, its mandarins and
high court officials, and the culture of the Byzantine eleventh century
in general. For all that historians and audiences remain fascinated with
Byzantium, we rarely think about what truly made it different from other
contemporary polities. Its noblesse de robe, to which Attaleiates belonged,
was one such crucial distinguishing characteristic.
Attaleiates did not leave us all that much for a detailed biographical
sketch to emerge from his writings alone. His voice sometimes echoes
loudly in his writings, yet more often than not his silences are deafening.
What you have in your hands is therefore the result of a peculiar form of
Byzantine crowdsourcing. A number of Attaleiates’ contemporaries (do
they really make up a crowd?) and their experiences are selected and cre-
atively bundled to produce a historically plausible approximation of what
was. Creativity may raise an eyebrow or two, hence the discomfort dis-
cussed above.
This book relies heavily on the painstaking, meticulous, funny, often
brilliant, and at times frustrating work of my colleagues in the field of
Byzantine Studies. From their pages, I liberally and with gratitude bor-
row as I relate Attaleiates’ life. The past few years have seen established
ideas scrutinized even as new ways of understanding the polity of the
Romans, its people, and its culture have taken hold. Like the monar-
chy of the medieval Romans, Byzantine Studies appears eternal and sta-
ble. While, however, in conferences and in our own work we celebrate
the past and pay our respects to genealogies of knowledge that pro-
vide comforting stability to what we know, in the pages of journals and
Preface and Acknowledgements Entwined ix
books a gradual, subtle, but tangible repositioning of the field has taken
place. Attaleiates’ life, as it emerges from the pages of this book, is an
attempt to reflect on these changes and relate them through the acces-
sible medium of biography to both colleagues and, hopefully, a broader
audience.
Well before it could be considered for any reader, let along a broad
audience, this book has for years existed as ideas circulated, discussed,
and tested among friends, colleagues, and students. Former and cur-
rent graduate students at Simon Fraser University patiently endured my
excited monologues and hand waving, showing keen interest in the pro-
ject. Alex Olson, Chris Dickert, Aleks Jovanovic, and Jovana Andjelkovic
have spent hours in conversation over food and drinks on this or that
aspect of the story. John Fine’s Michigan cohort—Anthony Kaldellis,
Adam Shor, Young Kim, Alex Angelov, and Ian Mladjov—have always
been willing to exchange ideas, Ian ever ready to improve our work
with his stunning works of cartography. Ray Van Dam’s storytelling and
sense for historically significant minutiae is always with me. I owe my
Ann Arbor colleagues thanks for the opportunity to discuss and further
develop my ideas on Attaleia as a Byzantine city-state by attending a sym-
posium at the University of Michigan in honor of Diane Owen Hughes.
During my sabbatical year, Catherine Holmes’ intercession offered
me three stimulating months as a Visiting Fellow at University College,
Oxford. Her hospitality was invaluable, while conversations with college
veterans George Cawkwell and Alexander Murray proved stimulating and
endlessly whimsical. James Howard-Johnston and Mark Whittow wel-
comed me back into the uniquely lively Oxford Byzantine community.
Mark’s knack for the unexpected question and openness to new, curi-
ous ideas was a reminder of what I had so enjoyed during my studies at
Oxford in the 1990s. I am profoundly saddened by his passing and by
the fact that I will not be able to get his reaction to this book.
For years, I have been sharing with Leonora Neville this or that aspect
of my project during our annual meetings at the Byzantine Studies
Conference. Her enthusiastic interest in Attaleiates’ tale helped me bring
this project to fruition. I have to thank her and the editorial board of
the New Approaches to Byzantine History and Culture series at Palgrave
Macmillan for the trust they put on this book. And so we come to
Nicole, who for more than a decade has offered support, companionship,
and ceaseless questioning of all ideas and certainties. I set the first words
x Preface and Acknowledgements Entwined
of this book on a word processor’s luminous white page while sitting on

her couch at Heather Street. A few blocks west and to the south, the last
taps on the keyboard ring from the living room in our apartment as this
project comes to an end.
Vancouver, Canada Dimitris Krallis

Contents
1 Introduction 1
2 Attaleiates’ Time: Byzantium in the Eleventh Century 11
3 Paper, Parchment, and Ink: The Sources

for Attaleiates’ Biography 41
4 Attaleia: The Busy, Bustling Fringe 55
5 To the Capital Seeking Wisdom 75
6 Attaleiates’ Household 101
7 The Courts of Justice, the Court, and the Courtiers 121
8 The Army in Society. The Society of the Army 139
9 The Judge on Horseback: The Empire at War 161
10 Byzantine “Republicanism”: Attaleiates’ Politics

of Accommodation and Self-Interest 189
11 Piety, Tax-Heavens and the Future of the Family 203
xi
xii Contents
12 Culture Wars and a Judge’s Roman Piety 219
13 A Short Conclusion 235
Glossary 237
Bibliographical Essays 241
Bibliography 265
Index 283
Abbreviations
Anna Komnene, Alexiad Anna Komnene. Annae Comnenae

Alexias, ed. D. R. Reinsch and
A. Kambylis. CFHB. Berlin:
W. de Gruyter, 2001.
Attaleiates, Diataxis .-M. Talbot in Byzantine Monastic
A
Foundation Documents, ed.
J. P. Thomas and A. C. Hero
(Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
2000), 1: 326–376 for all Eng. trans.
Attaleiates, History . Kaldellis and D. Krallis, Michael
A
Attaleiates, The History (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval
Library, 2012) for Eng. trans.
and Greek text.
Attaleiates, Ponema Nomikon Michael Attaleiates. Ponema Nomikon,
ed. I. Zepos and P. Zepos. In Jus
graecoromanum 7: 411–497. Athens:
Georgios Phexis and Son, 1931.
Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, . Moffatt tr. J. Reiske ed.,
A
De Ceremoniis Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos:
The Book of Ceremonies in 2 Volumes
(Canberra: Australian Association
for Byzantine Studies, 2012).
xiii
xiv Abbreviations
Mytilinaios Christophoros . Bernard and C. Livanos,

F
and Mauropous Ioannes, Poems The Poems of Christopher of Mytilene
and John Mauropous (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval
Library, 2018) for Eng. trans. and
Greek text.
Psellos, Chronographia Michael Psellos. Michel Psellos:
Chronographie ou Histoire d’un siècle
de Byzance, ed. and trans. É. Renauld.
Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1967.
Skylitzes, Synopsis Historion Ioannes Skylitzes. Ioannis Scylitzae
Synopsis Historiarum, ed. I. Thurn.
CFHB. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1973;
J. Wortley, John Skylitzes: A Synopsis
of Byzantine History, 811–1057
(Cambridge University Press, 2012)
for Eng. trans.
TIB Tabula Imperii Byzantini.
List of Figures
Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025 14

Fig. 2.2 A Nordic name carved on Hagia Sophia’s marble banister 18
Fig. 2.3 Map of Romanía in 1081 36
Fig. 3.1 Opening page of Attaleiates’ Diataxis 43
Fig. 3.2 Attaleiates’ ring from the Dumbarton Oaks collections 51
Fig. 3.3 St. George of the Cypresses 52
Fig. 4.1 Hadrian’s Gate in Attaleia—Antalya, Turkey 61
Fig. 5.1 Exoticism on the palace floors 84
Fig. 5.2 Map of Constantinople 89
Fig. 5.3 The aqueduct of Valens 92
Fig. 5.4 The Pillars of Hercules: Columns from the triumphal
arc at the Theodosian forum 94
Fig. 5.5 The porphyry column of Constantine 96
Fig. 7.1 The Emperor in the Kathisma—From the base of the Egyptian
Obelisk at the Hippodrome of Constantinople 136
Fig. 9.1 Map of Romanía’s Syrian, Mesopotamian,
and Armenian frontiers 163
xv
Byzantine Rulers from the Rise
of the Macedonian Dynasty
to the Komnenian Revolution
A straight-up list of men and women who held supreme power during
the two hundred years before the first Crusade cannot account for the
subtle and not so subtle developments at the commanding heights of
the Medieval Roman polity. I have, nevertheless, indented the reigns of
the four emperors who came to power by associating themselves with the
empress Zoe, the daughter of Konstantinos VIII, the last male heir to
the Macedonian dynasty.
867–886 Basileios I
886–912 Leon VI, the Wise
912–913 Alexander
913–920 Konstantinos VII, Porphyrogennetos under regency
920–944 Romanos I Lekapenos
944–959 Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos
959–963 Romanos II, son of Konstantinos VII
963–969 Nikephoros II Phokas
969–976 Ioannes I Tzimiskes
976–1025 Basileios II, son of Romanos II
1025–1028 Konstantinos VIII, son of Romanos II
1028–1042 Zoe, daughter of Konstantinos VIII
1028–1034 Romanos III Argyros, married to Zoe
1034–1041 Michael IV the Paphlagonian, married to Zoe
1041–1042 Michael V Kalaphates, Zoe’s adoptive son
1042–1055 Konstantinos IX Monomachos, married to Zoe
xvii
xviii BYZANTINE RULERS FROM THE RISE OF THE MACEDONIAN DYNASTY …
1055–1056 Theodora (Zoe’s sister)

1056–1057 Michael VI Bringas or Stratiotikos
1057–1059 Isaakios I Komnenos
1059–1067 Konstantinos X Doukas
1067–1068 Eudokia Makremvolitissa, widow of Konstantinos X Doukas
1068–1071 Romanos IV Diogenes, married to Eudokia Makremvolitissa
1071–1078 Michael VII Doukas, son of Konstantinos X Doukas
1078–1081 Nikephoros III Botaneiates
1081–1118 Alexios I Komnenos
Note on Transliteration and Translation
In a time of culturally sensitive readers, scholars should phase out the

distorting Anglicization and Latinization of Byzantine names. Mostly
following the Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire, I have adopted
the actual Greek forms of proper names—for example, Konstantinos
Monomachos rather than Constantine Monomachos (or, perish the
thought, Monomachus). In deference to his Latin cultural background,
the first Christian emperor will still appear as Constantine. Keeping a
clean text while conveying phonetically the long and short etas and iotas
of the Greek is nevertheless tricky. I have thus kept unaccented etas, as
in Ioannes, Diogenes, and Maleses, and opted for iota (ι) when render-
ing accented forms, as in Digenis. The dignities and offices of the men
and women who populate the pages of this book have been transliterated
directly and italicized. The reader should, however, note that it is some-
times impossible to offer an accurate translation given our lack of knowl-
edge regarding certain titles (e.g., vestes). Since no policy can remain
fully consistent, I have retained some first names and place-names more
widely used in Anglicized form outside the field of Byzantine or classi-
cal studies, such as Menander, Antioch, Constantinople, Cyclades, or
Trebizond.
xix
Note on Bibliographical Essays
and Endnotes
To keep the account of Attaleiates’ life as continuous as possible I opted

for a dual system of citation. Sparse endnotes refer the reader to p
rimary
documents and select modern works where essential, while bibliograph
ical essays at the end of the manuscript offer more on the relevant
scholarly debates.
xxi
CHAPTER 1
Introduction
A stunning panorama of the thickly forested Pontic Alps rising sharply as

backdrop to Trebizond impresses to this day travelers that set sail from
this ancient Black Sea port-city like modern age Argonauts on their way
to myriad destinations. And yet on a hot day early in September 1071,
the judge of the Hippodrome and the velum Michael Attaleiates had
little time to think of nature’s flare for the picturesque. Bleak thoughts
surely run through his mind as he left Asia Minor behind him on his
way to Constantinople. Beyond the Pontic mountain range, days upon
days of frantic horseback riding, to the south and east of Trebizond in
the vicinity of Lake Van, lay an apocalyptic landscape littered with the
swelling bodies of Roman soldiers. Attaleiates had only narrowly escaped
the fate of these men during the bloody aftermath of the imperial army’s
crushing defeat at the hands of the Seljuq Sultan Alp Arslan. Some of his
colleagues had not been so lucky and the emperor himself had been cap-
tured, a first in centuries of Roman history.
Usually judges like Attaleiates are mere shadows on the dimly lit can-
vas of the empire’s long legal and administrative history. We know the
names of numerous members of Byzantium’s judicial class and yet, more
often than not, their names alone do not tell us much. Most survive
as inscriptions on lead seals that reveal little about their careers on the
judge’s bench or their lives beyond the hustle and bustle of the lively
byzantine courts. A smaller number of judges left us their writings on
law from which we glean information regarding their profession and
© The Author(s) 2019 1

D. Krallis, Serving Byzantium’s Emperors,
New Approaches to Byzantine History and Culture,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_1
2 D. KRALLIS
even, sometimes, a sense of their approach to justice. Attaleiates, how-

ever, was reasonably well known in his own time. The sources at our
disposal are richer and while only small ciphers from the much larger
mosaic of his life actually survive, what emerges from those is color-
ful and illuminating. In fact, Attaleiates was likely a household name in
Constantinople at the time.
A few years prior to the aforementioned catastrophe, Attaleiates was
one of the presiding judges during what in his time must have regis-
tered as the trial of the century. He joined empress Eudokia and a num-
ber of his colleagues in legal drama that in 1067 consumed the attention
of the body politic. The general Romanos Diogenes, a respected war-
rior who had openly expressed his frustration with the empire’s handling
of Seljuq incursions in Asia Minor, was arraigned for sedition and con-
spiracy against the throne. Roughly a decade after the fact Attaleiates
penned a short account of the event in which he explained that the
court condemned Romanos despite a sense, shared by every single one
of its members, that the general’s motivation had been irreproachable
and his intentions noble. Alas, sedition against imperial authority could
under no circumstances be condoned, patriotism notwithstanding. In
a turn of events that contemporaries attributed to cupid, whose arrows
many thought had struck Eudokia in the course of the trial, the empress
spared the condemned man.1 Romanos had proven too handsome to kill
and but weeks later he became Eudokia’s husband and emperor. Little
ink has been spilled on this tantalizing bit of historical trivia. Buried in
Attaleiates larger History of his times it is quickly sidestepped by read-
ers who itch to leave behind them Constantinopolitan intrigue and fol-
low Romanos and his army on his campaigns against the Seljuqs in Asia.
And yet discussions no doubt raged in Constantinople, a fecund ground
for political gossip, regarding every detail of the trial.2 The people in
the streets surely pointed at the judge as he rode from the courts to his
home and back, dressed in his best silk fabrics.
Such notoriety rarely came without direct material rewards. Two
decrees bearing golden imperial seals, issued by Emperors Michael VII
and Nikephoros III in 1075 and 1079 respectively, indicate that the man
who tried Romanos Diogenes turned fame into real political dividend
and tangible material benefits in the years after the trial. Here is how the
secretariat working for Michael VII recorded what their emperor wished
to say about Attaleiates:
1 INTRODUCTION 3
There is nothing at all which can render the generous soul of a ruler even
more generous than the sincere loyalty of a grateful subject whose heart is
eager to serve his master. If this man is also adorned with learning of gen-
eral usefulness and a good disposition and intelligence, this encourages his
master to even more generosity. For this man attracts his master to himself
as a magnet does iron, and he asks, as is reasonable, to enjoy abundant
favors from him. Indeed an example has been revealed right before our
eyes and very close at hand that this is so and that these words are true,
namely the anthypatos and judge, Michael Attaleiates, a man venerated for
the dignity of his bearing and his good character, a very serious individual
of great learning and admirable experience, and even more admirable is his
loyalty to my majesty, a man who is prouder of this [loyalty] with which
he is adorned than he is of his other accomplishments, as a long period of
time has clearly revealed.3
The parsing index finger stops at the very middle of the paragraph above,
where the emperor notes that right before his eyes, very close at hand
Attaleiates stood as a model of loyalty to his rule. This document is testa-
ment to Attaleiates’ social and political success. The judge, who first tried
and then served Romanos Diogenes loyally, figures here as a respecta-
ble and trustworthy servant of the very regime that in time toppled the
warrior emperor and ordered his blinding. A second imperial decree
was issued by the successor to Michael VII, Nikephoros III Botaneiates,
to whom Attaleiates eventually dedicated his historical work. As with
the document cited above, the language on this one suggests that the
judge remained within the charmed circle of imperial confidants. In the
tumultuous 3rd quarter of the eleventh century, Attaleiates successfully
navigated courtly intrigue over four successive administrations from
Konstantinos X to Nikephoros III and with every upheaval and change
at the helm of the state increased his influence and wealth, while at the
same time carefully shepherding his one and only son into the ranks of
the empire’s officialdom.
This book then is about this one man, a respected judge, effective
courtier, and active politician. In a sense, it is a micro-history: a study
of Byzantium’s pen-pushers, a look at the role of highly educated offi-
cials in the empire’s politics through the focused engagement with one
man’s life. Men like Attaleiates produced laws, framed imperial ideol-
ogy, promoted some imperial reformist initiatives while undermining
others, and interpreted the Roman past in ways compelling for both
emperors and citizens.4 The medieval Roman polity, the state that the
4 D. KRALLIS
Byzantines themselves called Romanía (the land of the Romans), was

an imagined community created on parchment by Attaleiates and his
peers and defended on land and sea by the very same men who popu-
lated the pages of their histories. Courtiers and bureaucrats are what dis-
tinguished Romanía from feudal polities and emerging republics in the
west. They were such a prominent aspect of Romanía’s social and polit-
ical life that thirteenth-century Crusaders mocked Byzantine officialdom
by pretending to write in ledgers while holding quills. And yet, ironically,
there is perhaps only one accessible study of this influential class of men.
Members of the empire’s erudite officialdom no doubt cast an unimpres-
sive shadow when placed next to warrior emperors, rebellious generals,
and hardy warriors. It is to them, however, that we must turn in order to
understand the distinct nature of the medieval Roman polity and state,
since the quill of the bureaucrat often trumped the sword of the empire’s
soldiers, shaping, for better or for worse, the fate of the empire and the
way that its history is remembered.
This then is a biography of a man, whom we know by the three texts
he left us, all of them little read and yet important in their own right for
the study of Byzantium. It may appear disingenuous that as a historian I
write about a medieval “colleague,” yet it should be clear from the out-
set that this is not a study of Attaleiates as a writer of history. Our sub-
ject was after all a judge, a member of the court, who only incidentally
dabbled with history. In that, Attaleiates differs from my colleagues all
around the world and of course he differs from me. Unlike him, we write
history to earn a living. Unlike us, he did not pay his bills by crafting his-
torical narratives and he was by no means expected to instruct students
in a classroom. Different, however, as his career path may have been
from that of most academic historians, he nevertheless sought to fulfill an
aspiration as true today as it was back in the eleventh century. As an edu-
cated individual Attaleiates partook in a vibrant debate on politics and
culture and aimed to instruct future generations, much like his modern
counterparts who teach in university classrooms.
Still, one can take such comparisons only so far. Attaleiates’ audiences
were unlike ours and, as a result, his narrative techniques and ours are
distinctly different. We are supposed to be self-effacing and keep our
biases under control, or at least clearly stated, as we process information
with academic rigor. He, on the other hand, wore some of his biases
on his sleeve, while expressing some others more discreetly, trying not
to step on the toes of too powerful a court rival. He also made cameo
1 INTRODUCTION 5
appearances in his own historical narrative in an attempt to highlight

his role in the events described and used his own deeds as examples for
his readers. Modern scholarship on Byzantium has noted this “autobi-
ographical impulse” of the historians and chroniclers who wrote in the
period from the tenth century onwards. It is this phenomenon that I
exploit here in order to reconstruct aspects of Michael Attaleiates’ life,
not as a historian, but as judge, courtier, and member of the empire’s
bureaucratic elite.
One man then becomes a fellow traveler on a journey through the
eleventh century. His trajectory, from provincial birth to Constan
tinopolitan burial, takes him from a bustling provincial harbor to the
palace in Constantinople and the Byzantine army in the battlefield. In
examining the details of his life, as those emerge from the diverse texts
he left to posterity, we visit the empire’s territories, we walk the streets of
Constantinople, we invest on land and real estate, and we take his advice
on how to craft an effective tax haven for our fortune. We even face the
prospect of death at the hands of the empire’s barbarian enemies.
In proposing such a journey back in time, I seek freedom from the
historical presumption that as scholars we may only commit to paper
what can be strictly verified by the sources. Such exigency, while in the-
ory ensuring historical accuracy, rarely allows an accessible image of an
era to emerge. Our sources, if only they are treated imaginatively, though
by no means uncritically, offer a peek at exactly such an image. Whether
Attaleiates stared at the sea on a breezy summer afternoon, while sitting
at the pier of his hometown harbor, cannot be confirmed by his writings.
Yet the fact that he was born in the Mediterranean port town of Attaleia
where he spent his childhood makes it an absolute certainty that he had
indeed felt the sea breeze in his hair. As a piece of information this little
detail may appear speculative and devoid of significance. It does, how-
ever, open a window into the mind of this one medieval man and it is up
to us to look into it and examine the implications of what we see inside.
The reconstitution of Attaleiates’ experience necessarily also relies on
information, which only indirectly deals with him, such as evidence from
the historical footprint of other known members of his class. Eustathios
Romaios, Michael Psellos, Christophoros Mytilinaios, Symeon Seth,
and Basileios Maleses are Attaleiates’ contemporaries whose experi-
ences and worldviews become ciphers in the latter’s portrait. By focus-
ing on a single person’s life, as distilled from his own writings and from
the experiences of his contemporaries, this book aims for a semblance
6 D. KRALLIS
of chronological order. However, as anyone who has ever attempted

to relate such a story knows all too well, strict chronological sequence
is difficult to achieve without sacrifices in the fluidity of the narration.
People recounting their lives rarely do so in straight lines. The inevitable
ebb and flow of events and memories lead one back and forth and dis-
rupt the neat linear scheme of the storyteller.
What is more, the story of Attaleiates’ life resembles, in a way, a dam-
aged wall painting. There are areas of the composition where the colors
are bright, where lines are clearly discernible and patterns visible to all,
while in others whole pieces of plaster have fallen off the wall leaving
large gaps. Still elsewhere we reconstruct the image by recourse to what
we know about similar compositions. As any conservator of art would
admit and any archeologist would confirm, a fair degree of uncertainty
is involved in the process of restoration. Yet, as with any restored piece
of art or architecture, the end result, even if speculative to a degree, will
excite our imagination and spur further research in ways that academic
caution might not.
What would Attaleiates have made of the notion itself of academic cau-
tion? How much was truly at stake for men of his stature and erudition
in the field of letters and ideas? Did this seasoned judge, who survived
cold marches on rough campaign trails and hails of arrows in far-off bat-
tlefields, have cause to fear the “poisoned” quill of a court rival? Decades
before the trauma of Mantzikert, a rather different type of war had pre-
pared Attaleiates and his peers for the competitive world of the imperial
court. In the capital’s schools, in private halls, and even at the palace,
aspiring young men wielded turns of phrase and sharp retort as weap-
ons during intense duels for rhetorical supremacy. At times, the emperor
himself set up those contests through decrees written in vermilion ink.5
The poetry on Christophoros Mytilinaios, Attaleiates’ elder contempo-
rary and fellow judge, captures this exhilarating time in Constantinople’s
educational scene. In his verses “the young… gathering eloquence defeat
all the other youths in the dictation contest.”6 Students from compet-
ing schools take flight before the strongest of the young orators “and
as [they] flee let paper, ink pen fall to the ground.” They “take flight
before all others, for [they] will not bear the wound [a] pen inflicts.”
These “peerless paragon[s] of cowardice” are seen “deserting like a cow-
ard before the battle.” Crushed before the emperor by others “trained
to do battle with words,” and wielding “word spears” these victims of
pedagogical violence get to “know the dreaded defeat in dictation’s art.”7
1 INTRODUCTION 7
The price of failure was dear, exclusion from the charmed circle of impe-
rial officials and confidants at the court.
In truly evocative verses about social inequality the very same poet
and judge noted: “among a thousand rich men, myriads even, just one
unfortunate joins the lowly, while of the countless wretched poor, just
three prosper.”8 Even though Attaleiates and his fellow contestants in
the battle of words were by no means poor, letters and a good education
had all the potential to help them join a world of privilege. Furthermore,
despite the poet’s emphasis on the unshakeable social position of the
rich, a battle royal among the courtiers and officials who operated in
the deeply competitive Byzantine court kept everyone on their toes.
Mytilinaios’ contemporary, the well-known teacher, Ioannes Mauropous,
felt compelled to respond to critiques of his grammar, in a poem titled
“Against the man who criticized the verse ‘sold of gold’ because the
preposition is not rightly construed.”9 In our time, as White House
officials regularly misspell words in official communiqués, such empha-
sis on correct language use may appear quaint. And yet in Attaleiates’
universe bad grammar could ruin careers. There were no “safe spaces”
in Constantinopolitan schooling. Unlike the empire’s enemies, who were
more often than not beholden to age-old rules of war and diplomacy,
the Byzantine courtier took no prisoners when it came to the battle for
reputation, the only currency truly valued in Romanía’s public political
culture.
Having successfully maneuvered schoolyard wars, courtly machi-
nations, and battlefield sorrow, Attaleiates lived a comfortable life of a
widower in the last years of the 1070s. He divided his time between the
capital, with its busy courtly schedule and responsibilities, and his lands
in the Thracian city of Raidestos, where he played landlord and patron
to the local townspeople. In this period his political and war notes, com-
piled over a lifetime of active service, slowly morphed into the work
that we recognize today as the History. By now Attaleiates had achieved
the status of an insider. He was apparently advisor on legal affairs to
Emperors Michael VII Doukas and Nikephoros III Botaneiates and was
even occasionally asked to deliver public orations at court.10 And yet
this was precarious success. At a time of hyperinflation, numerous armed
rebellions, military defeats, and catastrophic loss of territory to all man-
ner of barbarian foe, he surely wondered how long his own good fortune
could last. With first-hand experience of his imperial patrons’ ineptitude,
Attaleiates kept hoping that a man would emerge to guide the sinking
8 D. KRALLIS
ship of state in safe waters. This person was to be the young generalis
simo Alexios Komnenos, whom Attaleiates rather slyly cast as a flawless
Roman leader in the midst of the History’s patently dishonest encomium
to Nikephoros III. The judge could not, however, count on fortune to
produce the great man who would save the Romans from their troubles.
In times of crisis, he did what he could to shield himself from instability.
Attaleiates did not live to experience the momentous events unleashed
by Alexios when—in an effort to recruit Western warriors for the
empire’s depleted and demoralized armies—this emperor offered pope
Urban II an opportunity to deliver his unprecedented call to Holy War
at Clermont (1095 CE).11 We cannot know what this judge steeped in
republican ideology would have made of the myriad knights marching
east with God’s army. We do, however, know what he felt about Latin
soldiers in Byzantine service. The History speaks admiringly of the inde-
fatigable Rouselios, a Norman warrior who defended Roman lands and
raised the standard of rebellion against Constantinople’s inept emper-
ors. Attaleiates knew Rouselios personally from his days as military judge
and clearly respected him. He was in fact critical of Emperor Michael
VII, who failed to see Rouselios’ potential as a defender of the pol-
ity and instead maltreated him. A few years later another able Norman,
the unscrupulous Robert Guiscard, invaded the empire’s territories in
the Balkans having completed his lightning conquest of Byzantine Italy.
To Alexios I Komnenos’ young regime this was a stark challenge that
Romanía’s armies struggled to repel. And yet, Guiscard had only a few
years back agreed to a dynastic alliance with the emperor then reigning in
Constantinople. This foreign menace appeared all too keen to be domes-
ticated or, as the case may be, Romanized. Years later, as the armies of
the Crusade marched toward Constantinople Robert’s son Bohemond, a
bilingual giant of a man, approached Alexios seeking to join the Byzantine
army command. Alexios declined and relations with this Norman
reached breaking point in the months that followed. Yet, it is interesting
to ponder on what may have been. What would Attaleiates have made
of Bohemond’s request had he been alive in 1096? Was this Byzantine
republican ready to open the empire’s fold to the fiery foreigner, much
as Romans had done since the first days of Old Rome, or would he have
closed ranks, like Alexios, faced with a dynamic world of inflexible faith,
militant entrepreneurship, and political opportunism? Let us turn then to
our Byzantine mandarin and the life of the Roman polity in the century
before the Crusades as we contemplate the answer to this question.
1 INTRODUCTION 9
Notes
1. Attaleiates, History, pp. 176–81 for Greek and translation, Bekker 97–99
for a widely accessible Greek edition available on line; Konstantinos
Manasses in Odysseas Lampsides (ed.), Constantini Manassis Breviarium
Chronicum (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1997), p. 345, lines 6375–85
for cupid.
2. Anna Komnene, Alexiad, p. 171, lines 11–13 on gossip; Ioannes
Mauropous, Poems, pp. 424–25, poem 53 on pamphlets; Photios, Letters,
ep. 1, lines 541–43 in B. Laourdas and L. G. Westerink (eds.), Photii
Patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et Amphilochia (Leipzig, 1983–
1987), vol. 1, pp. 18–19 on popular judgement of emperors.
3. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 361 for the translation.
4. Z. R. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal Tradition,
867–1056 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), p. 167 on
the eleventh century as the apex of the judges’ political authority.
5. Attaleiates, History, pp. 36–37, Bekker 21.
6. Christophoros Mytilinaios, Poems, p. 19, poem 10.
9. Ioannes Mauropous, Poems, p. 383, poem 33.
10. Attaleiates, History, pp. 532–33, Bekker 292 for delivery of oration;
Ludwig Burgmann, “A Law for Emperors: Observations on a Chrysobull
of Nikephoros III Botaneiates,” in New Constantines: The Rhythm of
Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, ed. Paul Magdalino (London: Ashgate-
Variorum, 1994), pp. 247–58, here pp. 253 and 256; Jean Gouillard,
“Un Chrysobulle de Nicéphore Botaneiates à souscription synodale,”
Byzantion 29–30 (1959–1960), pp. 29–41 for Attaleiates’ involvement in
legislating for Botaneiates.
11. P. Frankopan, The First Crusade: The Call from the East (London: The
Bodley Head, 2012) for the Byzantine role in the Crusade.
CHAPTER 2
Attaleiates’ Time: Byzantium

in the Eleventh Century
“What’s in a name,” asks Juliet. She is in love with Romeo Montague,

not his name. She cares not of rivalry, family feud, and politics, all this
history that stifles feeling. Juliet hates history. The historian, less roman-
tic to be sure, must instead love a name’s historical burden. George
(Greek for farmer), Michael (Hebrew for he who is like God), Abbot,
Cooper, Smith, and Scott are names and surnames freighted with mean-
ing much of it historical. Our protagonist’s name and surname are there-
fore of some interest to us. Attaleiates’ surname suggests origins in the
port city of Attaleia, modern Antalya in the southern coast of Turkey.
It thus hints at Romanía’s Mediterranean horizons. The Hebrew name
Michael, adopted by Christians early on, speaks of his family’s and
the empire’s religious inclination. Aside from such onomastic data,
Attaleiates’ title, patrikios, is also laden with information. While written
in Greek, the empire’s formal language, it is in effect of Latin origin,
suggesting that Romanía maintained some claim on the history of the
Roman Empire. Moreover, the word itself refers to the aristocratic patri-
cians of the Roman Republic and tells a tale of privilege and class distinc-
tions. Attaleiates was also a krites (Greek for judge) of the Hippodrome
and the velum. Those Greek and Latin words, lined up sequentially,
add definition to the emerging sketch of Attaleiates’ homeland. On the
one hand, the presence of a judge bearing an honorary title associated
with some sort of “patrician” aristocracy speaks of a respected and likely
well-remunerated professional class of legal experts. On the other, the
association of a judge’s office with the Hippodrome, though somewhat

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_2
12 D. KRALLIS
baffling at first sight, reveals a topographical link between justice and the
covered Hippodrome that housed a number of the capital’s courts by the
palace grounds.
The Court of the Hippodrome was in fact likely located on the south-
eastern side of this gigantic sporting venue, under its bleachers.1 This
Byzantine version of Rome’s circus maximus hosted chariot races, a
Roman pastime that survived well into Attaleiates’ days. In the eleventh
century, these spectacular and exorbitantly expensive sporting events
were staged by emperors in Constantinople and were imbued with for-
midable ideological caché. They were also topographically associated
with yet another court, that of the velum, which also sat behind a large
awning under the bleachers of the Hippodrome.2 This peculiar associ-
ation of the empire’s high courts with Constantinople’s premier sport-
ing grounds should not surprise us. The Hippodrome afforded the
Constantinopolitan demos an opportunity to come together, address the
emperor in one voice, and symbolically represent the medieval Roman
polity before him in a form of political communication that echoed
Rome’s republican traditions. That justice and the courts were closely
associated with such republican praxis was by no means accidental.
As suggested by Attaleiates’ name and titles, Romanía was indeed a
Mediterranean polity of Christian Greek speakers, carrying on the tra-
ditions of the Roman Empire to which it was the only direct descend-
ant. The citizens of this polity were fiercely dedicated to their Roman
identity. They were, however, also generous with it, frequently welcom-
ing among themselves numerous newcomers from the world beyond
the empire’s borders. Alongside the Christian majority, minorities of
heterodox or even heretical beliefs also built their lives under the wide
umbrella of Roman law. Of these the Jews, though treated as outsiders
by Christian writers, nevertheless constituted some of the oldest com-
munities of Greek speakers in the polity. While the empire’s western
possessions withered away from the fifth century on under the weight
of the so-called barbarian invasions, in the eastern Mediterranean Rome
endured. Romanía, as Attaleiates’ contemporaries called their polity, was
ruled by a centralized and bureaucratic state apparatus, manned by edu-
cated specialists serving under the supreme authority of the emperor,
who was, in the eyes of his subjects, God’s rather frequently replaced
representative on earth. The empire survived many a foreign invasion
and internal crisis after the loss of the west and, since the seventh cen-
tury, had acted as Europe’s beleaguered eastern bulwark against the
2 ATTALEIATES’ TIME: BYZANTIUM IN THE ELEVENTH CENTURY 13
expansion of a dynamic and legendarily affluent Islamic world. By the

eleventh century, however, Romanía had won the endless war it had
been fighting for about four centuries against the caliphate. At the time
of Attaleiates’ birth then, Romanía was triumphant. And yet this was not
to last. The judge lived through an era of dramatic military reversals and
political instability that to this day puzzle scholars.
The empire’s inability to effectively address the pressing challenges
it faced during Attaleiates’ lifetime was interpreted early on as a failure
of Byzantine leadership. As, over the years, scholars became skeptical of
“Great Men History,” their assessment of Byzantium’s eleventh century
ill fortune also changed. During much of the twentieth century, imper-
sonal forces like capital and social phenomena like class struggle sup-
planted individuals as agents of change and movers of history. In this
context, eleventh-century troubles were no longer the doing of men. For
some decline was a symptom of feudalization. The loss of peasant free-
dom attendant to the development of a feudal system was thought to
make for indifferent citizens, uncommitted to the defense of their pol-
ity. Others instead diagnosed a failure to feudalize. Any good Marxist
knew that, however noxious, the feudal lord represented an essential step
toward capitalist formation and, one would hope, socialist utopia. By
not developing feudal institutions, the Byzantines failed to leap toward
the end of history. Marxist analysis notwithstanding, in a world living in
the shadow of the Iron Curtain, Byzantium became a byword for the
Soviet-style despotism, sclerosis, and economic retardation. The empire’s
failings were therefore, somewhat anachronistically, attributed to arcane
structures of an outdated and repressive economic and social system.3
Ideology aside, for those scholars who had lived through two world
wars, the crisis that nearly crushed the empire in the second half of the
eleventh century had to be the logical result of deeply rooted social
unease and political dysfunction. Something was surely rotten in the pol-
ity of the Romans if it so easily succumbed to the unplanned incursions
of Seljuq war-bands and the adventurism of a few bold Norman warri-
ors. Recent cohorts of specialists have questioned this bleak assessment.
Shifting their gaze from military and political dysfunction, they highlight
the cultural florescence and economic prosperity that marked the elev-
enth century. They consequently downplay the challenges faced by the
empire in the period from the death of its greatest Emperor Basileios II
in 1025, to the crowning of Alexios Komnenos in 1081, barely 15 years
before the first Crusade. The debacle at Mantzikert and the loss of nearly
14 D. KRALLIS
half the empire’s landmass in the 1070s and 1080s still call for an expla-
nation, but warfare no longer monopolizes our readings of the empire’s
history (Fig. 2.1).
A more satisfactory explanation of eleventh-century developments
inevitably involves a degree of synthesis. In the period extending from
the first Islamic invasions in the early seventh century to the end of the
iconoclast controversy in the mid-ninth Romanía relied on a state appa-
ratus well adjusted to the perennial warfare necessary for the defense of
the homeland. A fine-tuned bureaucracy and the resilient society ruled
by it deployed armed forces that in time pushed back the armies of the
caliphate and ushered a period of rapid military and territorial expansion.
Led by a series of competent field commanders and by three extraordi-
nary martial emperors—Nikephoros II Phokas, Ioannes I Tzimiskes,
and Basileios II—Roman armies turned tables on the caliphate over the
course of the tenth century. The social and economic changes brought
about by conquest undergirded much of the cultural florescence dis-
cussed earlier. Still, all was not benign. Socioeconomic and cultural
change could not be effectively accommodated by this successful yet
inflexible system of governance and may have contributed to the crisis
that led in the last fifth of the eleventh century to the rise of Alexios I
Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025

Komnenos and the arrival of the Crusades. Let us, however, take a closer
look on the developments that marked Byzantine life in the period under
discussion.
In the beginning, everything was peaceful and calm. It is therefore
symbolically appropriate that Attaleiates’ father was called Eirenikos
(the pacific one). Eirenikos’ wife Kale (the good one) gave birth to
Michael in the final years of Emperor Basileios II’s reign (r. 976–†1025).
When shortly after Michael’s birth the legendary ruler died, men and
women, the likes of Eirenikos and Kale, who had lived whole lives under
Basileios’ seemingly eternal reign, contemplated the potential conse-
quences of his passing with calm assurance.4 Romanía seemed strong
and at the time extended from the Danube and the Dalmatian coasts to
modern-day Azerbaijan, the Caucasus, and northern Mesopotamia. Its
ambitious leaders imagined their pennons and standards waving, once
again, on the island of Sicily. In Mediterranean waters, the empire’s navy
was seldom challenged. On its part, the Byzantine army, a mix of farm-
er-soldiers and well-paid mercenaries, both indigenous and foreign, was
a well-oiled machine led by professional generals and occasionally by
the commander in chief himself, the emperor. The army did not avoid
defeats, yet as a rule it dominated the battlefield through careful plan-
ning, conservative tactics, and ruthless pursuit of its tactical or strategic
objectives.
When Basileios II died, the Byzantines ruled roughly double the
land his forefather Basileios I—the first of the venerated Macedonian
emperors—had handed over to his own son Leon in the late ninth cen-
tury. Over a century and a half since Leon’s accession, imperial armies
had added significant swaths of land in both Asia and Europe to the
state’s tax registers. By 1025, the treasury was filled to the brim and the
emperor could afford to excuse his subjects’ taxes for two entire years.5
Even though the empire’s Asian frontier collapsed but fifty years after
Basileios II’s glorious reign, we have tended to avert our gaze from
the effects of that earlier rather extraordinary bout of expansion on the
Roman polity. During the two to three decades of relative peace after
Basileios’ death, Constantinople exponentially increased its revenues.
A letter written more than two hundred years before this time by the
legendary Caliph Harun al-Rashid to Emperor Konstantinos VI helps
us better understand eleventh-century conditions. In it, the Caliph
explained that the peace treaty between Romanía and the realm of
Islam had allowed Roman laborers and artisans to quickly rework land
16 D. KRALLIS
previously devastated by war. People who had taken refuge on craggy

mountains and marshes were now able to return to their hearths in
order “to rebuild and innovate in agricultural methods… digging canals,
planting trees, and causing springs to burst forth, in such a way that
they prospered.”6 Harun al-Rashid warned that return to warfare would
reverse the situation and destroy all that human ingenuity had achieved
in conditions of peace.
This fascinating fragment of diplomatic correspondence outlines the
blessings that even a short-lived peace could bestow upon a land and its
people. By the middle of the eleventh century, Asia Minor had experi-
enced considerably more than a few years of peace. After some sixty years
of nearly uninterrupted calm, many Romans of Attaleiates’ time had
never experienced the hardship and heartache that came with war. Under
Constantinople’s mostly virtuous rule, the empire’s provincial towns and
villages grew larger and more prosperous reaping the benefits of stability.
The Aegean became once again a sea of peace and trade after Nikephoros
Phokas put an end to Saracen buccaneering by re-conquering Crete in
960. After that same austere emperor followed up his earlier conquest by
taking Cyprus five years later, trade routes to and from the Levant came
under Byzantine control. By Basileios’ reign, the emirate of Aleppo in
Syria had been forcefully integrated into the Byzantine economic sphere,
while the recently re-conquered city of Antioch, a traditional end point
of the southern branch of the silk road, was once again in Roman hands.
Networks of exchange, which had been operating below capacity or even
lay dormant for centuries during the empire’s long struggle against the
caliphate, were coming to life, boosting local economies, and helping
new classes of people into levels of prosperity unseen since late antiquity.
Important cities such as Tarsos in Kilikia, Antioch in Syria, Melitene
in Mesopotamia, and Theodosioupolis in Armenia, centers of trade
and administration, once more, became parts of the Roman realm and
enriched Byzantine urban culture. As for the empire’s own towns, many
of which over centuries of sustained Islamic pressure operated as little
more than provincial trade fairs and military camps, they now showed
signs of vitality and growth. A sense of security unleashed the people’s
economic potential leading to an increase in revenues, which went hand
in hand with a demographic boom; that much is confirmed by the arche-
ological and numismatic record.7 Economic development also gave a
boost to new actors in Romanía’s social scene. In towns all around the
empire, new money sought a place under the sun. Often the newcomers
married into old families desperate to graft coin on their venerable lin-
eage. On occasion, however, there was trouble in the city, the empire’s
republican heritage bubbling to the surface along with its less desirable
corollaries: acrimony and violence.8
Recent work on the period saw in these developments an opening of
society. Classical education, for centuries a prerequisite for a career in
the empire’s bureaucracy, was now far more than cryptic code language
for communication between courtiers. In Attaleiates’ lifetime, the clas-
sics became a vocabulary through which intellectuals and a new breed
of dynamic political agents (the two categories frequently overlapped)
attempted to describe the society in which they lived. The ideas engen-
dered in the process were often rather innovative, if not outright rev-
olutionary. Romanía’s intellectual forces are awakened in the eleventh
century and seek in the world of antiquity solutions to burning contem-
porary problems. As during the renaissance three centuries later, this
turn to the classics was no stale regurgitation of the past, but creative
repurposing of an ancient Roman legacy, an adaptation and reworking of
old ideas to new conditions.
This sense of intellectual excitement and the much-expanded oppor-
tunities for work in a growing empire’s administrative apparatus attracted
an ambitious and increasingly diverse youth to the epicenter of intel-
lectual fermentation in Constantinople. As with modern societies in
the post-colonial west, such diversity was also the product of empire
and conquest. Within the drastically stretched borders of the eleventh-
century polity, large numbers of new subjects of Serbian, Bulgarian,
Arab, and Armenian extraction now lived side by side. The inhabitants
of Syria were mostly Arabic speakers, while in the Balkans various Slavic
dialects dominated. Closer to Attaleiates’ homeland, Arab merchants fre-
quented the coasts of Pamphylia and Kilikia, in southern Asia Minor. To
the east, a starker set of choices had faced the Muslim communities of
the re-conquered territories. Most were cruelly ejected from the empire’s
lands in the long years of the Byzantine Reconquista.9 Christians from
the lands of the caliphate, who fled Muslim reprisals and new practices of
forced Islamization in Fatimid Egypt, entered their recently abandoned
homes and kept hearths alight. Only a select number, as the case was
with the Muslims of Antioch, were integrated into Romanía’s social fab-
ric. The bilingual astronomer Symeon Seth, who flourished in the capital
during Attaleiates’ lifetime, was a Roman of Jewish faith from these
newly conquered Arab lands. Where the empire looked west, the coasts
18 D. KRALLIS
of the Ionian and Adriatic Seas were accustomed to the Italian dialects
of Venetian and Amalfitan merchants. It goes without saying that the
polity of Greek-speaking mostly orthodox Romans which from the sev-
enth to the ninth centuries forged a relatively homogenous religious and
ethnic identity under relentless assault from the caliphate could not but
change with the reconquista. It is therefore not accidental that authors
of the time though sometimes crass and xenophobic nevertheless betray
surprising tolerance for difference when they talk about the empire’s new
subjects and its barbarian enemies.10
The ethnic diversity of the provinces was mirrored in Constantinople,
which lay at the center of a network of roads spanning out toward the fron-
tiers like crooked wheel-spokes. The multiethnic character of the capital is
attested by many sources from the time of Attaleiates’ life but also from
periods before and after the eleventh century. A tenth-century trades rule-
book, the so-called Book of the Eparch, mentions Syrian merchants, while
the twelfth-century Russian Primary Chronicle details the treaties that reg-
ulated the Viking traders’ sojourn in the capital.11 Scandinavian Runes can
in fact still be seen on the marble banisters of Hagia Sophia, the majestic
cathedral whose gigantic, solemn interior induced, some argued, the con-
version of the Rus to Orthodox Christianity (Fig. 2.2).
Fig. 2.2 A Nordic name carved on Hagia Sophia’s marble banister

Saracen visitors to the capital found places of worship for Muslims,

while Amalfitans made their presence felt in Constantinople almost a
hundred years before the Venetians turned the northeastern part of the
city into little Italy late in the eleventh century.12 In fact, by the middle
of the tenth century, the Amalfitans were so deeply enmeshed into soci-
ety that Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos could lean on their support to
reclaim the throne from the usurper dynasty of the Lekapenoi.13
If the streets of Constantinople teemed with life and presented the
image of a medieval Babel, the situation was not substantially different
in the palace grounds where one found mercenaries from the distant
steppe, Varangian warriors from the Nordic lands of eternal darkness and
even Muslim soldiers, all loyally serving in the imperial guard. Next to
them one saw Norman mercenaries decorated with the insignia of high
rank, Hellenized Bulgarian aristocrats chatting with silk-clad courtiers
from southern Italy and Patzinak nobles living the life palatine as diplo-
matic hostages. Who is Roman and who barbarian in this rarefied realm?
The Norman mercenary Rouselios was a defender of the empire’s fron-
tiers, a bearer of imperial titles, a friend of Roman courtiers, and the bat-
tlefield companion to Alexios Komnenos. Was he a barbarian or must we
see in him a Roman citizen in the making? In any case, how are we to
distinguish this foreigner from the philosopher Ioannes Italos with his
broken Greek and, according to some, uncouth perhaps even barbarian
manners?14
In the “Queen of Cities,” as medieval Romans called their capital, vis-
iting barbarians were not the only foreigners. Like a farm-boy from rural
America arriving for the first time in New York, a provincial faced sen-
sory overload but also moments of intense alienation in the streets of this
pre-modern Gotham. From a small town of less than a thousand souls,
he walks into a metropolis of half a million people and looks at monu-
ments, people, and colors with fascination but also with a degree of sus-
picion. And yet this strange megalopolis was not completely alien. It was
in fact, despite the pretentions of its people, a heady mix of provincial-
isms. The identity of its inhabitants was based on the adoption of a form
of local urban snobbery, and yet, every newcomer joined circles formed
along provincial and perhaps even ethnic lines.15 Such groups offered a
sense of inclusion during what was for most recent arrivals a lonely if not
outright alienating experience. They provided the comfort of a famil-
iar accent, warmth that comes with sharing a common experience, and
logistical support that made it possible to stay in touch with relatives in
20 D. KRALLIS
one’s often distant place of origin. At the palace—if our newcomer man-
aged to enter this gated community through extensive studies, connec-
tions, and some luck—he faced the caustic comments of his competitors
for imperial favor. He heard chatter about his Paphlagonian boorishness
and his Isaurian grandfather’s barbarity. Stories spread regarding the
muddy streets and the hovels of his Mysian hometown, and the thieving
customs of his Cretan relatives. All these comments, the suspicion and
hostility he had to overcome by developing political reflexes and thicker
skin, were uttered by men who themselves had been Armenian heretics,
Saracen enemies of Christ, Italian barbarians, and sons of fallen Bulgarian
aristocrats in a past not so very distant. This is the environment, which
Attaleiates and others like him, who eventually came to play a role in
operating Romanía’s administrative machinery, had to negotiate. We will
revisit this world in chapters to come. For now, we turn to a number
of themes and issues that set the parameters for our eleventh-century
journey.
Themes and Questions in the Study

of the Eleventh Century
It is an undeniable fact that Basileios II, the so-called Bulgar-slayer, is

the measure against which historians have analyzed eleventh-century
events and judged the men and women who shaped history in the course
of that eventful hundred years. Coming to power at the end of a long
period during which Romanía re-conquered territories, which in a dis-
tant past had belonged to the Roman state, Basileios II soon became a
model for others to emulate. Having ruled for nearly fifty years, he is
credited with the final defeat and conquest of the powerful Bulgarian
kingdom, the consolidation of the empire’s finances, as well as the ruth-
less subjugation of an unruly, overbearing, and often oppressive Roman
aristocracy. Important laws that sought to protect smallholding farmers
from local strongmen and richer well-connected neighbors confirmed a
reputation for tough justice noted and appreciated over the centuries by
medieval and modern scholars alike.
Basileios’ state was therefore strong, rich, and inclined to be just
toward the sea of farmers, who were, as in most pre-modern societies,
the majority of its subjects. What followed in the years after his reign,
however, slowly but surely undid much of what he had achieved. That
modern historians more or less share this assessment is not accidental.
Histories and chronicles written at the time, the medieval equivalent of

our newspapers of record, have each for their own reasons highlighted
Basileios’ virtues. In doing so, they pitted his successors against a qua-
si-canonized archetype, thus ensuring that they would fall short no mat-
ter what they did while on the throne. Thus those emperors who added
territories to the empire did so without measuring the possible adverse
effects of expansion. Conversely, those who lost lands needed little else
to damn their memory than the loss itself of Roman soil to the barbar-
ians. Even those who attempted with prudent actions to preserve the
polity and reform the state were plagued by personal faults that made
it impossible to favorably stand in comparison with the great man. No
greater accolade could a historian award an emperor of this time than
that he or she had surpassed Basileios in this or that aspect of their
reigns. In short, Basileios’ memory conditioned the way historians wrote
about the eleventh century.16
If on the surface it appears that Basileios was in complete control
of the empire’s fate for the period of his reign, blazing a path through
history and directing the fates of Mediterranean people, reality was of
course rather more complicated. His political dominance over Romanía
had only come after bloody civil wars fought early in his reign and
already during his lifetime in distant areas of the Eurasian landmass;
far beyond the Roman horizon, events were set in motion that would
in time affect the empire.17 Our attention is drawn toward two major
points on the compass. Out of northwestern France, the Normans sailed
north to change the history of the English isles. Yet, even as most even-
tually chose the familiar rainy north and the shores of Old England,
some had taken the journey south toward the sun earlier in the eleventh
century. This second group would in time deprive Romanía of her Italian
possessions after years of bold politics, backstabbing, and blitzkrieg.
From the east and the Eurasian plains rode the other two major threats
to the Roman polity. Out of the sea of tall grass that was the steppe,
two large tribal agglomerations, the Patzinakoi and the Seljuqs, pushed
toward Roman frontiers from north to east.18
Of the two, the Patzinakoi were the better known to authorities in
Constantinople, having established by the eleventh century a presence
of nearly two hundred years on Romanía’s diplomatic horizon. Already
in the tenth century, Emperor Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos had
written about this nation and its place on the diplomatic chessboard in
a handbook he later dedicated to his son Romanos.19 By the eleventh
22 D. KRALLIS
century, these ferocious itinerant warriors found themselves under pres-

sure from other westward-moving nomadic people and sought refuge
behind the protective line of the Danube, within Balkan territories that
the empire had only recently re-conquered. If the river frontier in the
area had been quiet in the final years of Basileios II’s reign, the same
was not true in the years to come. One emperor, Isaakios I Komnenos,
personally campaigned against the Patzinakoi, while numerous gen-
erals, some of whom, like Romanos Diogenes and Nikephoros
Botaneiates, became emperors themselves, built their reputations in
wars against this enemy. Romanía rid herself of this threat only dur-
ing the reign of Alexios Komnenos, who crushed them in 1094 and
integrated the defeated Patzinak warriors and their families in its social
fabric but two years before the arrival of the knights of the first Crusade
in the Balkans.
A most detailed Byzantine reference to the second nomadic threat
faced by the empire appears in a late eleventh-century source. In his
Synopsis Historion, a junior contemporary of Attaleiates, the fellow judge
Ioannes Skylitzes, offers an account of the Seljuqs’ entry into the Near
East.20 Skylitzes, who is truly well informed for one writing so soon
after the arrival of the Turks in the empire’s neighborhood, focused his
attention on the Seljuq statesman Togrul Beg, who in the years after
Basileios II’s death led his nation from Central Asia and modern-day
Turkmenistan to the empire’s southern frontiers. Sweeping in his path
the powerful state of the Ghaznavids, which at the time dominated an
area from India and Afganistan all the way to Iran, Togrul Beg con-
quered in quick succession the remains of the caliphate in Mesopotamia,
as well as Syria and Palestine. The first Seljuq raiders probed the
Byzantine frontier in the mid- to late 1040s, and in their initial encoun-
ter with the empire’s forces, the nomads did not prove much of a men-
ace. This was to change soon as a result of the Romans’ misguided, if
perhaps understandable policy of partial, peacetime demilitarization.
In the west, up until the 1040s, the empire remained poised to
re-conquer Sicily. Before his death, Basileios II had drawn up plans for
the re-occupation of the island, whose last significant Roman outpost
was embarrassingly lost to Muslim forces under the watch of the founder
of the Macedonian dynasty, his namesake and forefather Basileios I.
This policy was not abandoned in the ensuing years. During the reign
of Michael IV (r. 1037–1042), a strong expeditionary force landed on
Sicily. Normans and Varangian warriors, along with Roman regiments,
served under the valiant and by all accounts imposing figure of Georgios
Maniakes, a general who had already proven himself in the empire’s east-
ern frontier. The campaign would in all likelihood have been successful
had Maniakes, who lacking decorum had insulted a relative of the prime
minister, not faced accusations of disloyalty at court that resulted in his
recall and imprisonment in the capital.
Maniakes returned to Southern Italy under Michael V in 1042 to
deal with the emerging Norman threat. Soon, however, the politics of
Constantinople caught up with him once again. Michael V was top-
pled by a popular rebellion, Konstantinos Monomachos joined Zoe on
the throne, and a new commander was sent to replace Maniakes. The
fierce general overreacted and killed this man, putting himself in an
impossible position. Rather than face his accusers, Maniakes rebelled and
marched against Constantinople. At the moment of triumph in the deci-
sive encounter with imperial troops in the Balkans, he was killed. The
long-term goal for the re-integration of Sicily in Romanía died with
him, sacrificed on the altar of palace politics and intrigues.21 At the time,
Maniakes’ death appeared like a terrible missed opportunity. The poet
Christophoros Mytilinaios composed this verse epitaph for the general’s
grave to capture the loss
I Maniakes speak from the grave to all men:

I did not leave my valour on earth but buried it
undergraound as I departed and I intered it with me.
It lies not far from my limbs, like another body,
staying somewhere near the sinews of my arms,
not wishing to ascend from the netherworld without me.22
Significantly, the Maniakes affair also intersects with some of the earlier
Norman inroads into Italy. At this stage, the small band of roving North
European knights was no threat to Roman possessions in Southern Italy.
They were merely mercenaries seeking employment in the service of the
empire’s regional military commanders. Soon, however, this changed, as
Roman policies in Italy proved terribly shortsighted. Unfortunately, we
cannot craft a convincing narrative that would explain Constantinople’s
response to Italian affairs since for reasons that remain elusive to this day,
Italy falls out of the Byzantine historians’ horizon, soon after the Sicilian
fiasco. It appears that with crisis on every frontier, authors, much like
their emperors, could only tackle one threat at a time in their books.
24 D. KRALLIS
The Normans proved adept players in the European geopolitical

chessboard. They effectively manipulated weaknesses and fluidity in the
continent’s interlocking systems of power in order to establish them-
selves as major players. A team of well-led, talented, and extremely dis-
ciplined warriors combined the sensitivity and diplomatic skills of its
leaders with the devastating impetus of its cavalry charge in order to
conquer territory and then ably mobilize the resources and populations
within their domain. They created in Southern Italy and Sicily a hybrid
state that combined Norman, Greek, Latin-Italian and Arabic socio-
cultural and administrative traditions, and proved a major player in the
Mediterranean for the next century and a half, assuming a central role
in the Crusades. In the process, they also became a thorn on the Roman
emperor’s side. There was nothing inevitable, however, in the rise of
the Normans. One false step on the part of their various leaders from
Drogo to Robert Guiscard, one lost battle, could have undone the best
laid Norman plans and spared the empire major troubles in Italy. Yet the
simple fact that they proved successful attests to their skill as leaders—
fortune favors the able after all—and to the crisis, political and military
but also broadly social that the empire experienced in the latter part of
the eleventh century.
Of the three foreign threats discussed above, only the Petzinakoi were
more or less discernible in 1025. The other two would emerge within
thirty years from Basileios’ death. The internal causes of the empire’s
crisis, on the other hand, had been but temporarily suppressed dur-
ing Basileios’ reign. His authoritarian style of rule and the power of
the crown during his reign pushed society’s reflexive responses to this
unprecedented concentration of power underground, without, how-
ever, eliminating the causes of disaffection. Tensions between the cen-
tralizing state structures, which under Basileios became ever more
efficient and intrusive, and different alliances of interests could not have
remained dormant for too long. Old political players, such as the mili-
tary officer class—effectively trimmed and reshaped by Basileios during
the course of almost twenty years of civil wars—as well as new, like the
rising urban strata of merchants and service providers in general, now
openly expressed demands that put great stress on Byzantine govern-
ance. Not having developed the institutional framework wherein such
demands could be channeled and addressed, the empire’s political system
bulked under pressure from an active and assertive society. The result-
ant domestic instability materialized at a time when the polity confronted
the combined threat of the Normans, the Patzinakoi, and the Seljuqs.
By the reign of Monomachos, the combined cost of domestic clientelism
and foreign war was getting out of control. In an attempt to save the
budget, the emperor deployed both fiscal and monetary measures to
redress the balance.23 For a while, it appeared to be working, but only
just. One could argue that while Basileios won wars in the fields of bat-
tle, his successors, under considerably deteriorating international condi-
tions, started losing them in streets, fora, and on the treasury ledgers.
With the empire in crisis, Byzantinists for years sought explanations
for the problems faced by Basileios II’s mighty state. In this chapter, I
have already alluded to the emphasis of early writers on the role of indi-
vidual historical agents, who planned and executed those policies that led
to the demise of the medieval Roman polity. Byzantine historians and
authors of the time walk us through a history studded with events
planned by men, executed by men, and suffered by men (women and
children). Their writings are even organized according to reigns of
emperors thus forcing us to assess historical developments within a set
framework that privileges the individual and his, and on occasion her,
actions. From their work, however, and more specifically from Michael
Psellos’ Chronographia, which until recently was the only text available in
accessible English and French translations, modern historians also draw
another analytical tool. Psellos teaches us to look at the empire’s crisis
as the outcrop of factional struggle between the courtly, urban aristoc-
racy that staffed the bureaucracy on the one hand and the provincial mil-
itary aristocrats on the other. While not useless, this distinction has been
shown to collapse once the historian engages further with the evidence.
Even Psellos, who introduced it and is to this day sometimes hailed as
a representative of the “civilian” party, wrote in fact in support of mil-
itary aristocrats. And yet, the protean courtier participated in a coup
against the warrior Emperor Romanos IV Diogenes and claimed respon-
sibility for his blinding, despite the fact that the latter was one of the
representatives of that same class whose grievances against the “civilian”
party Psellos professed to understand. Alliances in the real world were
evidently less straightforward that we imagine in our academic desire for
neat categorizations.
Analysis, which focuses on straightforward distinctions between com-
peting factions, fails, therefore, to reflect the complex arrangements of
interest that took place within the elite on the basis of personal, cultural,
as well as other criteria. It is for this reason that a biographical approach
26 D. KRALLIS
becomes essential. The focus on members of Attaleiates’ class allows us

to touch upon all manner of relationship and interaction that he and
other members of his social environment had with men and women fur-
ther up or down the Byzantine social pyramid. Such relations appear,
even if at times only faintly, in his writings and are examined here. Thus
the study of Attaleiates, Mytilinaios, Mauropous, and Psellos within the
social context in which they flourished sheds light on our period in its
political, social, economic, and even cultural dimensions.
Some Facts and a Few Events

The death of Basileios II the so-called Bulgar-slayer did not stir the
Byzantine ship of state. His co-reigning brother Konstantinos, for years
happy with the name if not the reality of power, stepped without inci-
dent into Basileios’ shoes. Contemporaries have sketched a mostly unflat-
tering portrait of Konstantinos VIII.24 Once we peel off the rhetorical
element from those accounts, he emerges as an exacting fiscal adminis-
trator who dealt in a harsh manner with all real or imagined threats to his
reign. Moreover, he was true to the spirit of his brother in his implaca-
ble hostility toward the empire’s military class. Our sources nevertheless
indicate that unlike his brother he avoided military ventures preferring
diplomacy when interacting with the wider world beyond the empire’s
borders. Overall, Konstantinos’ three-year reign changed little in terms
of institutions, leaving the empire’s international status undiminished.
Like a figure on a Byzantine icon the emperor’s portrait sketched out
here is rather two dimensional and devoid of depth. Certain varia-
tions, however, in Psellos’ brushstroke add pathos and perspective to
Konstantinos’ character, setting us before a rather more fascinating
human profile. Thus we learn that Konstantinos liked to cook, flirted
with beautiful women, fought with wrestlers, and loved to toss the dice.
This list of personal quirks and habits does not account for the empire’s
foreign policy and domestic affairs. It betrays, however, an interest
on the part of the historian and his audience in the private aspects of
people’s lives, which is characteristic of the nascent eleventh-century
humanism.
Konstantinos’ death brought to the fore his daughters Zoe and
Theodora, who inherited the Macedonian dynasty’s immense prestige.
Basileios’ nieces capitalized on their popularity and carved out for them-
selves a unique role in both politics and in matters of imperial succession.
The two sisters were often at odds with one another but nevertheless
directly affected the fates of four consecutive emperors over nearly three
decades. The first successor to Konstantinos was Romanos III Argyros.
Psellos again dips his pen in bile and composes an account of this first
one of Zoe’s husbands as a man who combined unbounded if comical
ambition with an uncanny knack for failure. During his reign, the empire
suffered its first humiliating military defeat in more than half a century at
the hands of Muslims and the prestige of Roman arms was temporarily
compromised.
Yet, once Psellos’ rhetorical politicking is set aside, reality proves
kinder to Romanos. During his reign, the state apparatus was more or
less in the hands of the diabolically effective Ioannes Orphanotrophos,
a man bred in the air of administrative efficiency that breezed through
Basileios’ court. Thus despite Romanos’ profligate spending on
churches, monasteries, and almshouses, the state finances remained in
good order. Even the supposed dilution of Macedonian laws protecting
poor farmers may in fact have been overstated.25 What is instead evi-
dent in Romanos’ reign is the attempt to shore up his position on the
throne—a position he ultimately owed to his wife Zoe—by reinforcing
his links to the church and the population of the capital, the two main
recipients of his benefactions. This turn to the sovereign power of the
people betrays Romanos’ discomfort with the established and highly
intertwined bureaucratic and military officialdom. It is an indication of
Romanos’ relative weakness at court but also a reflection on the weight
of popular opinion in the empire’s politics. The people, who by the end
of Basileios’ reign appeared reined in, now once again emerge as essential
allies of imperial power. Soon, claimants to the throne would rise from
among their ranks.
Romanos eventually fell prey to his prime minister, Ioannes
Orphanotrophos. Ioannes introduced to the court his youthful brother
Michael who won the empress’ heart. Overlooked by the indifferent
emperor, who himself kept a mistress, the shift of Zoe’s amorous atten-
tions and allegiance spelled his demise. A web of conspiracy was spun,
Romanos’ dead body was found floating in the palace bathhouse, and
Michael shortly after became emperor. Mytilinaios wrote about this tran-
sition of power in a poem dedicated to the deceased emperor: “the peo-
ple buried the corpse of their valiant emperor there, then they rushed to
a new emperor and forgot about Romanos.”26 As suggested by the poet,
Michael’s rise to the pinnacle of power was uneventful, cloaked in the
28 D. KRALLIS
aura of legitimacy bestowed upon him by Zoe, who was still popular in
Constantinople. As for the empire’s administrative apparatus, his brother
the prime minister had it under his control. All Michael had to do was
put on the purple imperial sandals. Despite scandalous beginnings,
Michael’s seven-year reign represents one of the bright moments in the
political history of the eleventh century. Contemporary historians agree
that he was dedicated to public service and to the defense of the state.
Attaleiates even notes, in his account of the emperor’s Balkan expedition
in 1041, that though hampered by a weakened constitution—he suffered
regular, debilitating epileptic fits—Michael IV had proved quicker than
the legendary Basileios II in subjugating the rebelled Bulgarians. In the
mid-1070s when Attaleiates wrote, the memory of Basileios’ long reign
was very much alive; it did not, however, completely overshadow other
able leaders of the Roman polity.
In collaboration with his uncle Ioannes, Michael IV attempted to cre-
ate a system of power, which would entrench their family in the state by
neutralizing Zoe’s popularity. Michael’s relatives thus assumed important
posts in government and high ranks at court. The poet Mytilinaios noted
this effort and attempted to put a positive spin on this Byzantine display
of nepotism in verses written for the court:
The radiant foursome of the brothers

forms the sign of the shining cross,
because the four men are the four parts of the cross
that rule the four directions of the world…27
Since, however, Michael had no children of his own and Zoe was no
longer in childbearing age, dynastic stability was by no means assured,
it never truly was after all in the polity of the Romans. It was therefore
Ioannes’ considerable achievement that the empress was prevailed upon
to adopt Michael’s nephew and namesake, who was given the title of
Kaisar and in effect became the emperor’s presumptive heir.
When Michael IV died, his nephew was crowned emperor with Zoe
by his side as empress and true source of imperial legitimacy. The new
man, Michael V, was most certainly a son of the “Queen of Cities.”
Constantinopolitans knew him by his nickname, the caulker, which is itself
indicative of his roots among the city’s tradesmen. To Psellos, himself
a new man, Michael’s rise was an opportunity for brutal satire of those
lowborn now occupying the commanding heights of Byzantine politics.
Psellos comprehensively caricatures Michael about whom we learn that he

“was altogether devoid of glory and utterly obscure on his father’s line.”
In fact, “his father issued from some completely deserted rural place or
from another odd distant land” where “he neither sowed the land nor
planted it.” Before we have time to wonder what this man did for a living,
if tilling the earth had not been his thing, Psellos trots on to explain that
there had been “no cattle, nor a flock of sheep or other herd to tend.” He
was not even an estate manager we are told.
The land not doing Michael’s family any favors, he looked to the
sea. Psellos cannot leave his subject un-teased and notes that he was
not a merchant, a navigator, or even a harbor pilot. He rather entered
the shipbuilding business where he did quite well. The reader needs to
nevertheless be disabused of the idea that skilled labor was involved in
Michael’s path to wealth, so Psellos enumerates all the crafts involved
in shipbuilding only to explain that none of them could be associated
with him. He was rather known for the following: “when others had
conjoined the various pieces, he smeared pitch on the assembled parts
with great skill.” A great fortune was thus made by way of caulking.
In the era of opportunity that was the eleventh century, Michael’s rise
in the Constantinopolitan social scene was smeared on the hulls of the
capital’s merchantmen. Psellos notes that he personally witnessed “the
metamorphosis” only to realize that Michael’s new exalted place in the
capital’s social scene was by no means compatible with the man’s char-
acter and origins. “It was as if a pygmy strove to play Hercules and was
trying to play demi-god… Clad in lion’s skin, he was weighed down by
the club!”28
One wonders, however, after reading Psellos’ bilious account if people
on the street cared one iota that Michael’s family had held no property
in Anatolia. Many of the empire’s aristocratic landowners had been hard-
ened by careers in the army and life on the borders. Haughty and rough,
they often showed little respect for the people in the capital. Other land-
owners were in effect new men. Much like the emperor himself, they
came to money and fortune after successful careers in the trades or alter-
natively through service in the imperial administration. To the average
citizen of the capital, the life experience and careers of those grandees
spoke of fortune’s capricious ways, estates in Asia, and ancient lineages
notwithstanding.
Michael instinctively understood that and from the early days of his
reign set out to highlight his urban roots, thus strengthening his bonds
30 D. KRALLIS
with this large and diverse constituency. Constantinople was, after all,
teeming with a population whose loyalty to the emperor was important
as ever for his survival on the throne. While every emperor understood
well that he was in effect but the custodian of the polity, the exalted ruler
of an ancient community of citizens, each nevertheless displayed dis-
tinct and changing attitudes toward the population of the capital. Thus,
in the latter part of the tenth century, Nikephoros Phokas felt confident
enough to quarter Armenian soldiers in the city. For this, he faced the
wrath of the often-harassed Constantinopolitans, especially after he forti-
fied the palace thus creating an island of military rule in a sea of spurned
and discontented citizens.29 By the middle of the eleventh century, such
high-handed behavior was no longer an option. Emperors faced with the
infinitely more complicated political landscape of what was in effect a
newly prosperous, increasingly urban Mediterranean superpower turned
to the demos for support. Doing so, they transformed the people’s theo-
retical sovereignty into tangible political fact. In turn, the people devel-
oped a degree of self-confidence that allowed them to act collectively as
supporters, but also, more ominously, as deposers of emperors.
By the eleventh century, a visit to the house of Toxaras—the imperial
guard who assassinated Emperor Michael III in the ninth century—was
part of a tourist itinerary, surely a cruel popular joke on emperors pre-
cariously perched on the throne.30 The tension between imperial power
and the sovereign people had long inflected Byzantine politics. What was
new now was the readiness of historians to focus on such popular activ-
ity and foreground the emperor’s attempt to court the demos. Michael
V intuitively sensed the power of the populace and attempted to harness
it to his ambition in order first to liberate himself from the influence of
his uncle Ioannes and then marginalize Zoe. Seeking to bolster his own
position on the throne by using the street, he misread popular sentiment
and did not grasp the extent of the people’s devotion to Basileios II’s
nieces. The people rose and toppled him, bringing to the fore Zoe’s
elder sister Theodora, who despite her age and an earlier oath of chas-
tity that had confined her in a nunnery became custodian of the state for
as long as the search for an appropriate emperor was afoot. Nikephoros
Phokas’ imperial fortress was no longer adequate protection against the
raging sea of humanity that was the Constantinopolitan population in
open revolt.
The massive popular rebellion that put an end to Michael V’s regime
left some 3000 men and women dead in the capital’s looted city center.
And yet, perhaps for the first time in the empire’s history, writers, who
otherwise display little respect for the demos, now cast it a sympathetic
eye. Attaleiates, for example, evidently recognized the important consti-
tutional role of the demos by presenting their actions during the rebellion
as a struggle against tyranny. Thus, in the History, the rebelled populace
emerges as a quasi-lawful assembly of citizens with all the characteristics
of a mature, right-thinking historical agent. His account points toward
the maturation in contemporary thought of a conception of politics as an
increasingly participative process. The Roman polity’s latent republican
theory was now turning into politically potent praxis. In an age of great
men, the people of the street suddenly mattered.
With Theodora’s interregnum and Zoe’s eventual return to the palace,
a new emperor comes to power: Konstantinos Monomachos. His reign
witnesses a flourishing of letters and intellectual activity, reflected in the
rise of the so-called quartet of wise men to the palace inner circle. These
are the erudites Mauropous, Psellos, Leichoudes, and Xiphilinos. The rel-
ative longevity of Monomachos’ regime and his effective defeat of all mili-
tary-aristocratic threats to his reign gave the empire a sense of stability at a
time when tectonic shifts were reshaping the international environment in
which the polity lived. Mid-century Romanía was still viewed by its neigh-
bors as the indisputable leader of the Mediterranean world. Increasingly,
however, cracks appeared on the facade of Basileios’s imposing imperial
edifice. In this period of relative peace and prosperity, the empire was still
invaded by the Patzinakoi in the north, by the Rus from the Black Sea,
and by flying columns of Seljuq Turkish raiders at a time when internal
politics were about to turn “interesting.” While not one of those enemies
managed to wrest lands from the empire, which in fact expanded its terri-
tories, their appearance is a foretaste of the crisis to follow.
The reign of Monomachos has to this day been read with an eye on
the perceived decline of the empire’s defenses. A recent study compre-
hensively and to my mind convincingly challenged such a reading by
showing the emperor actively and, more or less, effectively addressing
the empire’s foreign policy challenges. Monomachos’ management of
war was therefore energetic and thoughtful, much like his attempts at
domestic reform. The latter were less controversial at the time, and as a
consequence, modern scholars have also treated them with interest and
even approval.31
The emperor’s reforms in the fields of education and law boosted
the empire’s social and intellectual life, while reinforcing the idea of the
32 D. KRALLIS
Roman polity as a realm of justice. The Consul of the Philosophers, a new

teaching position established in the capital as a reward for services ren-
dered to the emperor by Michael Psellos, was a most public affirmation
of imperial interest in letters. The post firmly pinned the discipline of
philosophy in popular consciousness by reinforcing the platonic adage
of the philosopher as an essential advisor to the powers that be. In the
eyes of an influential and expanding segment of the elite, the emperor’s
open support for Psellos no doubt provided legitimacy for the philos-
opher’s tendency to look at nature and the place of man in it outside
the narrow confines of religious doctrine. This move, quite naturally,
did not escape scrutiny on the part of the more inflexible elements in
the camp of religious orthodoxy. The teachings of the Consul of the
Philosophers stirred passions and Psellos found himself the target of dan-
gerous political attacks. To counter this conservative offensive and deflect
potentially damaging accusations of heterodoxy, the man of reason vol-
untarily donned the monastic habit. And yet, despite such reactions, by
mid-century, the capital’s intellectual life brimmed with debate and crea-
tivity. Thinkers and writers of the period that follows are to a large extent
Psellos’ intellectual offspring, beneficiaries of Monomachos’ “invest-
ments” in the realm of education.
In the field of justice, the new teaching post of the Guardian of the
Laws (nomophylax) and the foundation of the Office on Judicial Verdicts
(epi ton Kriseon) were signs of the emperor’s desire to rationalize and
streamline the operation of the empire’s courts. The more impor-
tant Office on Judicial Verdicts undertook the supervision of provincial
courts and occupied itself with efforts to uniformly apply the law on the
lands of the empire. This attempt to impose a homogenous and cohe-
sive system of justice across the territories of the empire must not be
seen as just another propaganda campaign by a ruler seeking to portray
himself as just. It was rather a response to the increasing demands by a
vibrant civil society for effective and just operation of the state’s mecha-
nisms. There were surely obstacles on the path to a just polity. The clash
between the Guardian of the Laws Ioannes Xiphilinos and the conserva-
tive legal establishment of the capital soon led this position into desue-
tude.32 This failure does not, however, detract from the emperor’s effort.
Monomachos’ rule must in fact be seen as moment in history when a
real opening of Roman society became likely. Attaleiates, whose life and
activity we follow in this book, was a product of this period, educated
in an intellectual universe defined by Psellos and joining the world of
jurisprudence right at the time when Monomachos stirred things up in

the realm of the law.
As the emperor neared the end of his life, the bill for the expan-
sive clientelist policy of Basileios’s successors and the recent wars in
three fronts was delivered to the treasury. Attaleiates tells us that as
Monomachos came closer to death, he instituted a harsh taxing regime,
attacking among others the monasteries and their extensive properties.
To an emperor who had promoted justice and education, an attack on
the wealth of indolent, landholding obscurantists surely made sense. The
body politic was by no means offended, his young cadres approved, the
empire appeared to prosper—the newly challenging international situa-
tion notwithstanding.
After Konstantinos’ death, Theodora assumed sole control of the
empire. The reign of this last one of the Macedonian princesses was short
but is nevertheless described with some admiration by Psellos. Attaleiates
too had kind words for her efforts to run the state, focusing on her most
influential minister, the cleric, and bureaucrat Leon Paraspondylos.33
Upon her death, a year or so later palace circles crowned a new emperor,
the elderly, honest, and agreeable Michael the so-called Old Man
(Geron). Contemporary historians treated his short stint on the throne as
a preamble for the rise of the military class’ darling, the rebel and future
Emperor Isaakios Komnenos. There is little cause for the modern scholar
to do otherwise.
Isaakios treated the empire’s creeping military and fiscal challenges
with due concern. He was after all the first soldier to take the throne
since the death of Ioannes Tzimiskes some eighty years before his
reign. From his first days as emperor, Isaakios understood that new
pressures on the empire’s frontier imposed a tighter fiscal policy on
the overextended treasury. His measures, which included cuts in the
officialdom’s salary roster, were thus aimed at collecting the revenue
necessary to bolster the empire’s increasingly challenged defences. The
tax-authorities were mobilized and assessors sent to the provinces to
collect pending debts. In Constantinople, the state’s bureaus pored
over reams of documents, re-examining previously granted tax-priv-
ileges and rescinding much that was awarded thoughtlessly in earlier
times of plenty. Isaakios’ policies were strict but mainly directed toward
large landed estates and monastic property. The flourishing urban
classes, living in the empire’s newly booming cities, do not appear to
have been touched much by his measures. Psellos and Attaleiates, both
34 D. KRALLIS
likely affected by Isaakios’ trimming of state salaries, openly expressed

their admiration for him. They even ironically emphasized the positive
social effects of his attack on monastic property. The two authors in
fact gleefully spoke of the opportunities this measure offered for monks
to live a true life of frugality and Christian poverty.34 Isaakios, how-
ever, did not limit himself to cost cutting. He also led the army to bat-
tle and attempted a broader reorganization of the state. Yet, precisely
because he stirred the pot, perhaps a bit too briskly, the emperor did
face a bloodless palace coup. He resigned from the throne to retire in
a monastery and passed the reins of the state to his close confidant and
associate Konstantinos Doukas, who ranked among the organizers of
his ouster.
This former ally and supporter of Isaakios proved inert in running the
army, while completely failing to grasp the magnitude of external threats
to the empire’s defenses and territories. Under Konstantinos’ reign, the
Seljuq Turks expanded their destructive raids on the empire’s tax base in
Asia Minor, while the Patzinakoi once again crossed the Danube bring-
ing chaos to the northern Balkans. All the while, attacks from Aleppo
into Syria put Antioch, one of the empire’s largest urban centers, under
immense pressure. Such failure to act in view of clear and present dan-
ger to the state is all the more surprising given Doukas’ earlier presence
in Isaakios’ inner circle. Ironically, this indolent emperor came from
the ranks of the army. Having thus left the ship of state listless at a time
when it faced waves of challenges on its borders and in its increasingly
overrun provinces, Konstantinos also complicated the domestic front
with his deathbed decisions. With his eldest son Michael still a minor,
the empress Eudokia, his mother, was sworn to celibacy in an effort to
confine succession within the Doukas household. The capital’s political
class was similarly bound by this inconvenient oath to the dying emperor.
The empress’ desire to avoid a full-blown military revolt like the one
that swept Michael VI the Old Man from power but a few years back,
now brought Romanos Diogenes to the fore. By marrying herself to
this dynamic, conveniently handsome and manly generalissimo, Eudokia
attempted to protect her children’s rights to the throne from other
ambitious members of the military aristocracy. At the same time, she was
offering the polity what everyone seems to have been calling for: a mil-
itary solution to the depredations on the empire’s lands by its nomadic
enemies.35 The return to peace was to take place in the only man-
ner which, at the time, everyone recognized as effective: the methodic
reconstitution of the army. Diogenes himself knew that the only hope for
the restoration of Byzantine arms and prestige was constant training. The
campaigns he led in 1068 and 1069 in Syria and Asia Minor exposed
the troops to the enemy under controlled circumstances in prepara-
tion for a larger decisive operation that was to put an end to the painful
raids. That final expedition was timed for 1071 and its eventual failure
was to have dire consequences for the empire. This chapter is not the
venue for a detailed analysis of Romanos’ strategy. One should simply
note that one August afternoon, three years of meticulous planning and
ceaseless training were thrown to the wind when the commander of the
army’s rearguard, Andronikos Doukas, betrayed Romanos. The empire’s
expeditionary force suffered decisive defeat and the emperor found him-
self the Sultan’s captive. Once again, enmities and clashes at the level of
the court were having nefarious effects on the empire’s ability to defend
itself. In the words of Attaleiates
the Romans of our times… their leaders and emperors commit the worst
crimes and God-detested deeds under the pretext of the public interest.
The commander of the army cares not one whit for the war nor does what
is right and proper by his fatherland, and even shows contempt for the
glory of victory; instead, he bends his whole self to the making of profit,
converting his command into a mercantile venture, and so he brings nei-
ther prosperity nor glory to his own people.36
Widening our field of vision, it is necessary to point out that Romanos’

policies had mostly been focused in Asia Minor at a time when impor-
tant developments were afoot in Italy. After years of losses to the enter-
prising and combative Normans, the empire did not in the late 1060s
have the resources to mount an effective two-front fight. Romanos dis-
patched reinforcements to the besieged garrison at Bari but otherwise
allowed Roman possessions in Italy to slip out of the empire’s control.
We have seen that Romanía had in the past contemplated the expansion
of her authority in the west with campaigns for the re-conquest of Sicily
under Basileios II, Michael IV, and Konstantinos IX. In the later elev-
enth century, its western possessions were lost. For reasons scholars have
yet to explain, chroniclers and historians of the time refer to those events
only in passim. While it would be unfair to accuse the empire’s rulers
of diplomatic and strategic myopia, it is true that their near exclusive
attention on what was the immediately pressing eastern front allowed for
36 D. KRALLIS
the growth of powers in the west, which in time proved dangerous for
Romanía.
With Romanos’ defeat at Mantzikert and his subsequent deposition,
we enter a period of civil strife, which only ends with the rise of Alexios
Komnenos to the throne in 1081. Ten years of violent introspection
resulted in the loss of nearly all of the empire’s possessions in Asia Minor
(Fig. 2.3).
The Seljuqs occupied much of it; the rest remained in Roman hands
but in a state of autonomy from Constantinople. We will not at this
point treat in detail the reigns of Michael VII Doukas and Nikephoros
III Botaneiates, as they are intricately linked to Attaleiates’ own biog-
raphy and will therefore be discussed in the coming chapters. Yet it is
perhaps necessary to note that in this time of profound crisis the gov-
ernment in Constantinople attempted to reclaim the empire’s western
territories through a clever process of co-option. A plan put forward by
Romanos Diogenes was picked up by Michael Doukas’ advisors who
sought to wed the Roman heir to the throne in Constantinople to the
daughter of the Norman leader, Robert Guiscard, thus assuring his inte-
gration into Romanía’s court and military establishment.37 The plan,
which was set in motion in the Queen of Cities and agreed upon by
Fig. 2.3 Map of Romanía in 1081

the Norman leader, only failed when Nikephoros Botaneiates toppled

Michael Doukas putting an end to the betrothal and proposed marriage.
This reversal provided the Normans the pretext for their later invasion
of Romanía’s territories. It is likely that in the years before the Crusades
but also later, no Roman historian was willing to dwell into the politi-
cal minefield that was Italy. The eventual end of this betrothal and the
grave diplomatic fallout associated with it does not, however, detract
from the audacity of Byzantine diplomats, who could still at this criti-
cal time imagine bold solutions to the empire’s problems. The sheer fact
that authorities in the empire’s capital could envisage the integration of
a large group of foreign aristocrats and warriors into Romanía’s imperial
order attests to the dynamism of Roman society and the confidence of its
leaders in its assimilative powers.
This ability of the courtly elite to imagine solutions to the empire’s
pressing military problems and the actual transfer of such a plan from
the realm of imagination to that of practice bring us to the central theme
of this book. We focus here on Michael Attaleiates, who by recording
events that marked the empire’s history during his lifetime did not sim-
ply offer an account of the past but rather provided his readers with a
complex political statement. Attaleiates’ History suggests a number of
explanations for the causes of Roman decline. His approach to histori-
cal causation places him at the center of a lively debate on the empire’s
trajectory from glory to disaster and on the type of politics and policies
necessary for the restoration of the Roman polity. In another book, I
focused on the political uses of Attaleiates’ historical writings and on the
central place of history in eleventh-century politics. Here I examine the
biographical data, which allow us to imagine him as a member and repre-
sentative of the class of courtiers and administrators who played a part in
shaping the political landscape of the empire in the third quarter of the
eleventh century.
Attaleiates and his peers were to larger or lesser degree behind the
successes and failures of the medieval Roman state. They influenced
emperors, shaped policy, developed and disseminated propaganda, put
into effect tax-policy, and build up the legal apparatus with which the
empire sought to protect its subjects from all manner of abuse. While not
heroic in the manner of the warrior Romanos Diogenes and his fellow
combatants from among the ranks of the army, officials like Attaleiates
were what distinguished Romanía from other European and Asian pol-
ities of the Middle Ages. They colored its culture and, quill in hand,
38 D. KRALLIS
created the portraits of the main historical actors that modern historians
study. They deserve therefore to have their story told. This book is about
one of them but also, in effect, about them all.
Notes
1. Paul Magdalino, “Justice and Finance in the Byzantine State, Ninth to
Twelfth Centuries,” in Law and Society in Byzantium, Ninth-Twelfth
Centuries. Proceedings of the Symposium on Law and Society in Byzantium,
9th–12th Centuries, May 1–3, 1992, ed., Angeliki Laiou and Dieter Simon
(Washington, DC, 1994), pp. 98–9 note 26.
2. The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium, vol. 3, p. 2157.
3. S. A. Ivanov, “The Second Rome as Seen by the Third. Russian Debates
on ‘The Byzantine Legacy’”, in The Reception of Byzantium in European
Culture Since 1500, ed., Przemyslaw Marciniak and Dion C. Smythe
(New York: Routledge, 2016), pp. 55–80 for Soviet takes on Byzantium.
4. Psellos, Chronographia, I. 37 (Renaud, pp. 23–4) on Basileios’ eternal
reign.
5. Psellos, Chronographia, I. 31, lines 3–17 (Renaud, p. 19) on Basileios’
treasure; Skylitzes, Synopsis Historion, p. 352 on remitting taxes, Thurn,
p. 373.
6. Nadia El-Cheikh, Byzantium Viewed by the Arabs (Cambridge, MA:
Harvard Universtity Press, 2004), pp. 92–3 for the translation.
7. D. Stathakopoulos, “Population, Demography, and Disease,” in The
Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, ed. Elizabeth Jeffreys et al.
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 312.
8. Nikephoros Bryennios, History 2.29 in Paul Gautier (ed. tr.), Nicéphore
Bryennios, Histoire (Bruxelles: Byzantion, 1975), p. 205, lines 18–25 on
newly rich Antiochenes seeking local power.
9. Miskawayh, Experiences, translated by David Samuel Margoliouth, in idem
and Henry Frederick Amedroz (eds. and tr.), The Eclipse of the ‘Abbasid
Caliphate: Original Chronicle of the Fourth Islamic Century, vol. 5
(Oxford, 1921), pp. 225–8 for population expulsions.
10. Dimitris Krallis, Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline
(Tempe, AZ: ACMRS, 2012), pp. 157–68 on Attaleiates’ positive
take on Rouselios; Paul Magdalino, The Byzantine Background to the
First Crusade (Toronto: The Foundation for Hellenic Culture, 1996),
pp. 22–8 with keen insight on Attaleiates’ take on foreigners and
pp. 29–32 for a perceptive on Attaleiates’ sympathy for the Normans.
11. Samuel Hazzard Cross and Olgerd P. Sherbowitz-Wetzor (ed. and tr.),
The Russian Primary Chronicle: Laurentinian Text (Cambridge, MA:
The Medieval Academy of America, 1953), pp. 65 and 75 regarding

sojourn in the area close to the Church of St. Mamas and pp. 64–75 in
general for the Byzantino-Rus treaties that regulated Rus presence in
Constantinople.
12. Ibn Taghri Birdi, al-Nujum al-zahira fi muluk Misr wa’l-Qahira,
vol. 4, p. 152, Gyula Moravcsik (ed.), Romilly J. H. Jenkins (tr.),
Constantine Porphyrogenitus: De Administrando Imperio (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1967), p. 92, lines 111–13, Al-Muqaddasi in
Bibliotheca Geographorum Arabicorum, 3: Descriptio Imperii Moslemici,
ed. by Michael Jan de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1967), pp. 147–8, lines 12–7,
Nicholas Mystikos letter 102 in Leendert G. Westerink and Romilly
J. H. Jenkins (ed. tr. and comm.), Nicholas I, Patriarch of Constantinople:
Letters (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1973), p. 377 for mosques
in Constantinople.
13. Liudrpand of Cremona, Antapodosis, vol. 21 in Paolo Squatriti, The
Complete Works of Liudprand of Cremona (Washington, DC, 2007),
p. 185.
14. Attaleiates, History, pp. 42–3, Bekker 24 on Muslim mercenaries;
pp. 537–8, Bekker 295 on Varangian Guards, pp. 53–5, Bekker 31 on
Petcheneg hostages in Constantinople; Anna Komnene, Alexiad, p. 161,
line 29 to 167 line 26 Italos.
15. Paul Magdalino, “Byzantine Snobbery,” in The Byzantine Aristocracy, IX
to XIII Centuries, ed. Michael Angold, British Archaeological Reports,
International Series 221 (Oxford, 1984), pp. 58–78.
16. Psellos, Chronographia IV. 42, lines 6–10 (Renaud, p. 78) fon Michael IV
and his concern for losing lands; Attaleiates, History, pp. 13–15, Bekker 10.
17. Psellos, Chronographia, I. 18, lines 26–28 (Renaud, p. 18) on Basileios
dominating his own people.
18. P. Frankopan, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World (New York:
Vintage Books, 2015), pp. 99–113 and 127–31 for a neat summary of
their respective homelands.
19. Gyula Moravcsik (ed.), Romilly J. H. Jenkins (tr.), Constantine Porphyr
ogenitus: De Administrando Imperio (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
1967), pp. 48–53 and 166–9 on the Patzinakoi.
20. Ioannes Skylitzes, Synopsis Historion, pp. 416–19, Thurn pp. 442–6.
21. Attaleiates, History, pp. 9–11, Bekker 9; Skylitzes, Synopsis Historion,
pp. 381–3. Thurn, pp. 405–6 on Maniakes’ operations.
22. Christiphoros Mytilinaios, Poems, p. 123, poem 65.
23. Attaleiates, History, pp. 88–91, Bekker 50–51.
24. Psellos, Chronographia, II (Renaud, pp. 25–31); Skylitzes, Synopsis
Historion, pp. 349–53, Thurn, pp. 370–74.
40 D. KRALLIS
25. Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaelis Pselli: Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,

1992), p. 176, poem 8, lines 1379–1385 for Basileios II’s laws of exemption.
26. Christophoros Mytilinaios, Poems, pp. 13–14, poem 8.
28. Psellos, Chronographia IV. 26–27 (Renaud, pp. 69–70).
29. Leon Diakonos, IV. 7 in Charles B. Hase (ed.), Leonis Diaconi Caloënsis
Historiae libri decem. Et Liber de velitatione bellica Nicephori Augusti
(Bonn: Weber, 1828), p. 64, lines 25–65, line 5.
30. Albrecht Berger, Accounts of Medieval Constantinople: The Patria, p. 187
[Book 3.100].
31. A. Kaldellis, Streams of Gold, Rivers of Blood: The Rise and Fall of
Byzantium, 955 A.D. to the First Crusade (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2017), pp. 208–13.
32. George T. Dennis ed., Michaelis Psellis, Orationes Forenses (Leipzig:
Teubner, 1994), pp. 125–42, oration 3 on Ophrydas and the enemies of
Xiphilinos.
33. Psellos, Chronographia, VII—Theodora—4 (Renaud, p. 73, lines 3–12),
for a translation of this passage see Sewter, Fourteen Byzantine Rulers,
p. 262.
34. Psellos, Chronographia, VII—Isaakios Komnenos—60 (Renaid, p. 120,
lines 15–19); Attaleiates, History, pp. 110–11, Bekker 60–62.
35. Michael Psellos’, Oration to Romanos, in Michaelis Pselli Orationes
Panegyricae, ed. George T. Dennis (Leipzig: Teubner, 1994), pp. 175–9,
oration 18; Attaleiates, History, pp. 186–7, Bekker 101 on Romanos rep-
resenting the hopes of the people.
36. Attaleiates, History, p. 317, Bekker 195.
37. Paul Magdalino, The Byzantine Background to the First Crusade (Toronto:
The Foundation for Hellenic Culture, 1996), pp. 11–12 on this plan,
p. 18 on the seriousness of Byzantine foreign policy in the west.
CHAPTER 3
Paper, Parchment, and Ink: The Sources

for Attaleiates’ Biography
From May seventh to May fourteen 1079 a document bearing the

signature of Emperor Nikephoros III Botaneiates was copied six times
and deposited in as many different bureaus in Constantinople. The cop-
ies made of paper, standard chancery stationary at the time, were filed
with those sekreta of the imperial administration responsible for ensuring
that Attaleiates’ property would remain exempt of all manner of dues to
the state. The decree sought to burn a temporary hole on the fiscal map
of the empire at the exact spot where Attaleiates’ property was located.
As far as the Roman army, the Constantinopolitan tax authorities and the
agents of the patriarch were concerned, as far as the imperial post, the
navy and the fiscal officers of the empire knew this land did not exist. A
copy of this imperial decree in parchment, with the golden seal of the
emperor affixed upon it, was given to Attaleiates himself, to add to his
personal archive, proof that he was indeed immune of some, though
by no means all, of the most onerous impositions on private property.
His secretary Ioannes, a trusted member of Attaleiates’ household for
years, copied the imperial decree to the back of a little book, where space
was left for appending such important documents.1 The booklet itself,
one of two copies, was likely deposited in the cell of the monastery’s bur-
sar. As a historian writing with relish of emperors who rescinded privi-
leges granted by exactly this type of document to other people’s lands
and properties, Attaleiates was admittedly intellectually dishonest in his
pursuit of this kind of exemption.2 The judge’s hope that, unlike so
many others who had failed, he would use his connections at court to stir

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_3
42 D. KRALLIS
the fiscal authorities of the empire away from his lands was also evidence
of deep rooted optimism. In that, he was no different than most people
with some influence in the polity of the Romans. His estate was not to
be the only hole on the empire’s fiscal map.
The booklet mentioned above had a brown, thick, leather cover and
was some hundred pages long, the size of the glossy pocket travel books
we carry on our trips around the world. It was made of thin, soft, and
smooth parchment of yellowish color. Attaleiates would have spent
somewhere around a nomisma and a half of old issue gold coins, or up
to five of the new devalued issues of Emperor Nikephoros III, to procure
the materials used for this little document. Just about a fourth of a poor
worker’s annual salary went into this miniature celebration of tax exemp-
tion and privilege. It is conceivable that Attaleiates personally supervised
the process leading to the production of these pages, as he no doubt did
when he ordered the materials for the codex on which he had his own
History set as a gift to that same elderly emperor. This little book then
was a “constitution” for a monastery, which Attaleiates created in 1075
in an effort to sacralize his personal property, thus securing it from the
exacting administrators who served the bankrupt and increasingly cor-
rupt Roman state. Known as the Diataxis, it is a set of rules and stip-
ulations regarding the operation of this pious foundation, as well as an
accurate description of all the possessions of the monastery (Fig. 3.1).
This unassuming document, currently in the National Library in
Athens, gracefully bearing purple-bluish marks of humidity and in need
of careful restorative work, is a source of singular importance for those
who seek to understand the man recognized by scholars as one of three
major historians of the eleventh century. Its value extends well beyond
the information it offers regarding the organization of monastic life
in the middle Byzantine period and the details it provides regarding
Attaleiates’ career. It is above all a direct material connection with the
man himself. Ironically, Attaleiates has left us at least three items that
he had touched with his own hands. One of them is the Diataxis. When
I held the manuscript in my hands in the summer of 2004, after kind
permission from the helpful staff of the National Library, I was able to
imagine a direct connection to the man who lived a millennium before
our time and had become the object of my studies. Carefully opening
the book on its 62nd folio, I found myself staring at his autograph signa-
ture which reads as follows:
3 PAPER, PARCHMENT, AND INK: THE SOURCES FOR ATTALEIATES’ … 43
Fig. 3.1 Opening page of Attaleiates’ Diataxis

44 D. KRALLIS
I, Michael Attaleiates, patrikios, anthypatos, judge of the hippodrome and

the velum, confirming all the above [provisions], with God’s help, and
wanting them to remain inviolable, have appended my signature and seal,
in the month of March, fifteenth indiction, of the year 6585 (1077 CE).3
This was the handwriting of the judge, the same hand, which would
have appeared on hundreds of legal briefs and decisions floating about
Constantinople and the provinces of the empire. The same hand in
which the first and now lost draft of the History, his work on Romanía’s
political and military fortunes from 1035 to 1079 was likely written.
Modern scholars rarely have the opportunity to come that close to their
medieval subject. Some authors do give us more than others. Readers of
Eloise and Abelard’s letters, or for that matter, readers of Psellos’ writ-
ings about his family enjoy very direct insights into the minds of their
subjects. In the case of Attaleiates, however, we have a tactile link to the
man and to the people closest to him, who would have handled this little
booklet.
While the Diataxis’ manuscript is an elegant if fragile and sadly decay-
ing interface between medieval judge and modern reader, the little book-
let is more than an aesthetically pleasing object from a bygone age. It
is primarily a treasure trove of information regarding Attaleiates’ life.
As a handbook dispensing rules that regulated the lives of the monks
inducted in Attaleiates’ monastery, it also sheds light on the lives of the
founder and his family and bears the imprint of his worldview. While
resources dedicated to this pious foundation were drawn from a personal
estate built up over years of public service, the purpose itself of this par-
ticular “investment” in piety was the perpetual celebration of the found-
er’s life and family.4 If, then, one page of the Diataxis recorded in detail
the assets that Attaleiates allocated for such commemoration, another
reminisced about relatives he had left behind him at the port-city of
Attaleia, while yet a third spoke of gratitude to his loving parents.
Pious disclaimers notwithstanding, Attaleiates was proud of his ori-
gins and professional achievement. The Diataxis is therefore as much
a celebration of his career, as it is a sacred textual shield protecting his
property. With the temporal and the transcendental coexisting in its
pages, this text can be used for the reconstruction of his social, e conomic,
and family life, while also offering a rough outline of his career. It is,
however, still an incomplete record. The Diataxis reveals all manner of
detail pertaining to Attaleiates’ life and its stipulations offer insights into
his thoughts and worldview. Nevertheless, much remains unsaid. We

thus learn about Attaleiates’ desire to celebrate the memory of his two
deceased wives and parents, yet we possess no information regarding the
dates or places of their deaths. We learn of sisters living in Attaleia, but
little about their offspring and family other than the fact that the judge
wanted to ensure they would never challenge his son’s descendants for
control of the monastery.5 In the words of a famous modern obscuran-
tist, there are known unknowns and unknown unknowns associated with
Attaleiates’ life that we are unable to access through this medieval text
alone.
The Diataxis, however, opens a different fascinating door into
Attaleiates’ world. Next to instructions about the recruitment of the
monastery’s complement of monks, but a few pages after detailed provi-
sions regarding the portions of food that would sustain them, the reader
finds a list of books owned by this pious foundation. Unsurprisingly, the
vast majority of those works are of religious content. Only three, a book
on earthquake and thunder, a history of the Capture of Jerusalem by
Josephus, and a copy of Attaleiates’ own History on chancery-grade cot-
ton paper are works of secular nature. Yet, this list also records the names
of the owners of some of the purchased books and thus links Attaleiates
by way of the book market with known figures of the court. The little
book on thunder and earthquakes in particular opens a whole new world
of enquiry and offers an intriguing peek into the judge’s interest in the
occult and in divination.
Attaleiates’ books, both those recorded in the Diataxis and others
kept at his home, for which we have little to no direct evidence, bring
us to the one work for which the judge is mostly known among schol-
ars, the History. Recent work on the History has revealed evidence
of extensive classical influence on the author. Attaleiates readily uses
quotes borrowed from the father of history Herodotos, the first “scien-
tific” historian Thucydides, and the soldier-writer Xenophon. Scholars
have identified in his work excerpts from later-day Greek writers such
as Diodoros of Sicily, Polybios and Dionysios of Halicarnassos. He also
seems to have read the sixth-century work of Agathias and that of Leon
Diakonos, a writer of the tenth century, whose history may at least to
some extent have been an inspiration for his own text. When it comes
to literary texts, Attaleiates quotes from Euripides’ Andromache and
Media, evidence perhaps of a fascinating interest in tragic women, and
in the effects of war on families. At the same time, he also often shows
46 D. KRALLIS
appreciation for the lighter side of things as attested by his casual use of
lines from Aristophanes and the master ancient soap opera, the comedian
Menandros.6
According to a rapidly changing scholarly prejudice regarding the
use of classical texts by Byzantine authors, Attaleiates’ classicism was the
by-product of a rigid educational curriculum aimed at creating compe-
tent parrots of revered ancient cultural artifacts. Byzantine authors have
not always been treated as curious intellectuals delving into the fasci-
nating world of antique culture. They were classical ventriloquists, per-
forming elaborate literary tricks for pretentious “consumers” of oratory
and text at court. While we can enjoy the masters of classical literature,
retaining our distance from them and producing our own modern mas-
terpieces, Medieval Romans supposedly remained attached to form,
constantly repeating what the luminaries of the past had crafted, unable
to innovate and, above all, failing to critically engage with the material
they read. One could argue that this assessment speaks more to mod-
ern anxieties about our own relationship with the classics than about the
Byzantines’ actual engagement with the Greco-Roman past.
Attaleiates’ History is a work focused on political and military affairs
of the period from the mid-1030s to 1079. Its purpose is outlined in
the opening pages of what is a 300-page long narrative. Here the reader
learns that history
describes illustrious deeds born of flawless planning and effort as well as

inglorious actions caused by the faulty planning or negligence of those
governing public affairs. Above all, it tells us about those who hold the
highest office, how some of them successfully overcame clear and pres-
ent dangers through their diligent military strategies, while others, even
when victory was about to smile upon them, ruined everyone’s hopes for
a happy outcome by not making prudent use of the opportunities given to
them. All these things are stripped bare by history and, as we said, there is
much utility in them, for they convey clear instruction and set patterns for
the future. They simply lead us to imitate what was discerned well and to
avoid ill-advised and shameful deeds in wars, battles, and in all other most
necessary offensive ventures and challenges of defense.7
The familiar idea that lessons can and must be drawn from the study of
the past by a historically conscious individual has deep roots in ancient
Greek thought. By writing history to instruct future generations how
to avoid the failings of his contemporaries, Attaleiates joins a venerable
intellectual tradition well known to his peers. A few lines later, Attaleiates
notes that he wrote about events he had personally experienced, refrain-
ing, to the degree that this was possible, from hearsay and from infor-
mation he could not directly verify.8 A link is established here between
the Byzantine author and men like Thucydides and Polybios who had
written history after distinguished careers in the public eye. There is,
however, a difference. Thucydides wrote in exile, having bungled an
Athenian military operation, and Polybios compiled his magisterial his-
tory of the rise of Rome from comfortable captivity among the Romans
in Italy. They wrote about events and actions they had witnessed or
knew of from reliable contemporary sources and yet they were them-
selves no longer politically relevant. Attaleiates wrote instead at home in
the empire’s capital, very much an active political man. He addressed an
audience of contemporaries, whom his work drew into a world of pol-
itics and action that they collectively inhabited and in no small degree
affected.
We know for example, that when he records the campaigns of
Romanos IV Diogenes in the History, he does so having been present
at the camp and even having taken part in consultations with the army
high command on issues of strategy. On occasion, he even inserts him-
self in the proceedings and gives us his opinion in the form of an address
to the emperor. The reader can trust Attaleiates to be relating events in
a reasonably accurate fashion. His audience after all consisted, at least
to some degree, of men who had been present in those same meetings;
men who would have immediately contested his version of events had it
been less than honest. In many ways, his account resembles the mem-
oirs of high-ranking government officials who translate privileged access
to meetings and debates that define contemporary politics into life-like,
albeit rarely unbiased, accounts of recent history.
The modern reader can study the History because soon after
Attaleiates’ death, the text was copied and circulated among circles of
officials in the capital. No one really knows what the process of dissem-
ination was like, though it is certain that a sumptuous copy survived for
a while in the imperial library where Attaleiates’ gift to Nikephoros III
was surely deposited. This would have been a copy in parchment of the
highest quality, as only the best of books were offered to the emperor.
Attaleiates’ investment in this copy would have been significant.
A century earlier, bishop Arethas of Caesarea had spent up to twenty or
more gold coins for copies of Plato and for Euclid’s works. We can only
48 D. KRALLIS
assume that to prepare a sumptuous volume in large format, Attaleiates

would have spent a similar if not larger amount, adjusted for inflation
given the debasement of the empire’s currency in the second part of the
eleventh century. He could by no stretch of the imagination think of a
time when readers would sit at home with a copy of his work in hand
that costs at most the equivalent of ten day’s supply of bread.
Beyond this one sumptuous copy, there was also one paper manu-
script surviving in the library of his monastery, donated by Attaleiates’
secretary after the judge’s death. The use of paper rather than parchment
speaks of the notarial circles which Ioannes, the owner of the volume fre-
quented. It also suggests possible ways of dissemination for the History.
Paper was cheaper and may have indicated a parallel readership among
secretaries, paralegals, and court officials that existed side by side with
the reading salons of the civilian and military aristocracy whose threshold
Attaleiates had surely attempted to cross. Besides this recorded but lost
copy, we know of another, missing volume of the History. It appears on
a list of manuscripts attached to a well-known Vatican codex containing
Heliodoros’ Ethiopiká.9 This elusive edition of the History offers fascinat-
ing information about Attaleiates’ readers. Men and women with inter-
est in the late antique escapist literature of Heliodoros were people with
a respectable classical education. They were well read, refined in taste,
and appreciative of literary worlds far removed from Christian day-to-
day reality. Heliodoros was read in eleventh-century Constantinople and
Michael Psellos even penned a work of literary analysis in which he com-
pared him to the other great writer of the Roman East, Achileas Tatios,
noting that “many well-educated persons were in dispute concerning
these two romantic novels, which deal respectively with Chariclea and
Leucippe, maidens fair in appearance and outstanding in character.”10
Readers of Heliodoros’ work were not, however, mere escapists with
a taste for exotic travel and literary love affairs. They were themselves
inventors of new types of romantic adventures. Niketas Eugenianos’
Drosilla and Charikles, Theodore Prodromos’ Rhodanthe and Dosikles,
Eustathios Makremvolites’ Hysmine and Hysminias, and Konstantinos
Manasses’ Aristandros and Kallithea, became popular during the reigns
of the Komnenoi Emperors in the twelfth century. Attaleiates likely
sought such men as readers for his own work.
Finally, leaving the literary salons for the less comfortable and more
modestly furnished Byzantine scriptoria, we turn to two copies of the
History, made out of parchment, that were produced in a period of
roughly fifty years following Attaleiates’ death. The two, one missing
the last hundred pages and the other one complete, survive in the man-
uscript collections of the Escorial in Spain and the National Library in
Paris. The Escorial volume reveals a lot about its writer. Paleographers,
the bookworm equivalent of forensic scientists, have decoded the DNA
of its scribe’s handwriting, noting that it presented all the characteris-
tics of a cursive style also encountered in a volume with works of Saint
Basileios and attributed to the Monk Basileios Anzas. This Basileios is
not the only Anzas known to us. There was also a judge of the velum
named Niketas who bore the same surname. Here, however, things
get interesting, as this individual was a member of the narrow circle of
judges frequented by Attaleiates, who in fact also served in the court of
the velum. Niketas is in turn known for a fiscal register, surely not the
most exciting reading, the handwriting on which is quite similar to that
found on Attaleiates’ manuscript preserved in Madrid. It is even more
fascinating that a third Anzas, quite likely a relative of the other two, was
a high-ranking judge in the 1050s and 1060s, who had been the executor
of Attaleiates’ wife’s will.11 It may then be that at least one known family
from the world of justice actively engaged in Attaleiates’ affairs.
The copy of the History preserved in Paris, clearly dated in the twelfth
century, is, perhaps fittingly, the most elegant and sumptuous of the two.
It was generated in an environment of affluent patrons, who could afford
the work of four equally competent scribes. These men were all sticklers
for orthography, who had mastered a fashionable small, upright, exuber-
ant writing-style also evident in contemporary copies of famous histor-
ical works like Psellos’ Chronographia and Glykas’ Annals.12 If scholars
today tend to trust the mostly sober narrative of the History, the same
appears to have been true of Attaleiates’ contemporaries who copied his
work and even adopted its storyline, reproducing it with but few emen-
dations. Already in the late eleventh century, another judge, Ioannes
Skylitzes complemented his own history originally ending with the reign
of Isaakios Komnenos, with Attaleiates’ accounts of what came after.
Skylitzes reproduced whole parts of Attaleiates’ work verbatim, like a
newsman trustily relating an AP wire.
Attaleiates’ contemporaries may have respected him as a historian, yet
the History was not his only work. In fact, when the Emperor Michael
VII Doukas referred to Attaleiates as an erudite in a chrysoboullon he
offered to him in 1075, he was certainly not thinking of the judge as
a historian. In those years, Attaleiates’ reputation was built on his legal
50 D. KRALLIS
expertise and on his understanding of the history of law. Attaleiates’ long

service in both civilian and military courts is substantiated by the pro-
fessional titles recorded on both the History and the Diataxis, the auto-
biographic cameo appearances in the History, and the inscriptions on
his surviving signet ring and led seal. His more scholarly engagement
with law is on display in the Ponema Nomikon, a text he dedicated to
Michael VII in 1072. This legal synopsis opens with a short introduc-
tion to the history of Roman law, from its inception during the Roman
Republic to the publication of the Basilika in the tenth century. It then
offers a summary of that later legal corpus. Jurists in the ensuing centu-
ries read the Ponema Nomikon and had it copied in at least twenty-four
manuscripts that survive today. In the fourteenth century, the noted
jurist Konstantinos Armenopoulos used Attaleiates’ work as one of his
sources for the compilation of his own legal handbook, the Hexabiblos.
Attaleiates therefore gained a place among the empire’s legal legends
that rivals his significance as a historian, a fact often sidestepped by
scholars.
The most surprising relic from Attaleiates’ life is a tiny object in the
collections of the Dumbarton Oaks Centre in Washington, D.C. The
judge wore on a daily basis a small ring, made of gold with enamel dec-
oration of the mother of God on it, an image that also appeared on the
lead seals he had made for office and personal use. On both ring and
seal, we find embossed Attaleiates’ calls for assistance to the Mother of
God (Fig. 3.2).13
As patron Saint of the city of Constantinople, the Virgin Mary was a
favorite of courtiers and members of the empire’s civilian aristocracy. It is
among the members of this class and in their writings, that the rest of the
information regarding Attaleiates’ experience will be sought. Aspects of
their life story fit well with his own and we can be certain that men like
Psellos, Mytilinaios, Symeon Seth, Basileios Maleses and others, shared
acquaintances, intellectual and political interests, and most significantly,
operated under the same palace roof. By talking about Attaleiates, we are
in a sense narrating their experience as well, and by examining their work
and actions, we look back to Attaleiates, whose life was often directly
affected by them. The histories, letters, official memoranda, the saints’
lives, monastic charters, and scores of other surviving documents of the
eleventh century compiled by officials like Attaleiates provide the con-
text for the analysis of his own texts and life. Much as the life of Virginia
Fig. 3.2 Attaleiates’ ring from the Dumbarton Oaks collections
Wolf is better understood when we read about John Meynard Keynes,

E. M. Forster, Lytton Strachey, and other members of the Bloomsbury
group, Attaleiates’ life becomes richer even as we read about the fam-
ily affairs of Michael Psellos and the social circles of bishop Ioannes
Mauropous of Euchaita.
Finally, the least obvious relic of Attaleiates’ past is the largest and
most accessible to a general audience. A trip to Istanbul, a good detailed
map of the city, and a willing taxi driver can take one to a small, little-
visited church in the southwestern part of the old town. Tucked away
from the people’s gaze, is a lonely inglorious building in the sea of
humanity that is the modern city. This is the Church of Ai Giorgi
Kiparissa, Saint George of the Cypresses. Here Attaleiates had his two
deceased wives buried and planned to be himself interred. The church
no longer bears a likeness to its medieval self, having been extensively
remodeled in the empire’s late years and then restored after a devastating
52 D. KRALLIS
Fig. 3.3 St. George of the Cypresses
fire in the nineteenth century. Yet it is by this little church, and in the
area next to it that Attaleiates’ family established their final resting place.
Somewhere in this little-visited corner of modern Istanbul, their bones
may still lie under the accretions of centuries (Fig. 3.3).
Ai Giorgi Kiparissa reminds us that next to the books, the slowly
fading ink on the manuscripts, and all the modern works on the liter-
ature and history of the eleventh century, that conspire to outline for
the reader aspects of Attaleiates’ life, the story before us unfolded in
the very real and to some extent unchanged natural environment of the
eastern Mediterranean and the Anatolian Plateau. It is on the timeless
spaces of the Eurasian landmass that the eleventh-century drama was
played out. The mountains, the sea, the olive tree, and the catch of the
Mediterranean, next to the ruins of a living antiquity and the medieval
creations of a people who called themselves Romans provided the set-
ting for Attaleiates’ life. Parchment was, after all, made of sheepskin from
flocks grazing on the Anatolian plateau.
Notes
1. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 354 on those blank pages.
2. Attaleiates, History, pp. 111–12, Bekker 61 on confiscations.
3. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 354.
4. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 341 on commemorating the family.
5. Attaleiates, Diataxis, pp. 338–39.
6. Inmaculada Pérez Martín, Miguel Ataliates: Historia (Madrid: Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2002), pp. l–li.
7. Attaleiates, History, p. 9, Bekker 7–8.
9. Inmaculada Pérez Martín, Miguel Ataliates: Historia (Madrid: Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2002), p. lvii.
10. Andrew R. Dyck (ed. and trans.), Michael Psellus: The Essays on Euripides
and George of Pisidia and on Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius (Vienna:
Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1986), p. 91 for the
translation.
12. Inmaculada Peréz Martín, Miguel Ataliates: Historia (Madrid: Consejo
Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2002), pp. lx–lxi
13. Gustave L. Schlumberger, Sigillographie de l’ Empire Byzantin (Paris:
Ernest Leroux, 1884), p. 438: Μιχαὴλ ἀνθύπατος o ᾿Ατταλειάτης with an
image of the Virgin holding a baby Jesus on the obverse.
CHAPTER 4
Attaleia: The Busy, Bustling Fringe
“He who gives birth to a son will be immortal.”1 This was a feeling shared
by many Romans and it certainly filled the hearts and minds of one urban
family from Attaleia sometime around the year 1025. The household
in which the man later to be known as Michael Attaleiates was born had
every reason to feel that it was blessed by God, as the arrival of a baby boy
ensured that the family line would likely be continued. Celebrations fol-
lowed the event, the neighborhood and relatives becoming involved in the
family’s joy.2 In the days and months before the baby’s birth, the family
would have sought hints as to the sex of the child. Wet nurses tested the
quality of the mother’s milk seeking the thick sticky substance they associ-
ated with boys. The mother’s stomach was checked and a pretty round belly
with a certain stiffness was seen as more evidence of a coming son.3 Quince
from the mountain plateaus in the Taurus range rising tall behind Attaleia
was no doubt consumed to ensure the child’s intelligence.4 The family may
even have consulted astrologers in their desire for “scientific” prognostica-
tion. After the baby was born they would draw an accurate astrological chart
and open discussions about their son’s future. Around 1025 one could
expect the best for a boy born a citizen of a triumphant empire. The astrolo-
gers had every reason to be optimistic in their assessments.
The baby was baptized in a local church forty days after his birth. We
know nothing about the thinking behind the family’s choice of Michael
as a name for their son. The father’s name Eirenikos (Pacific, Serene)
was not passed on to Attaleiates’ own son, who was instead given the

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_4
56 D. KRALLIS
name Theodore, a divine gift indeed to a man who had already lost one
wife and at the time lived in a less than serene empire. In any case, the
church fully condoned this break from the pagan tradition of naming
children after their grandfather. Michael was after all a good Christian
name, which could easily have been chosen for its religious significance.
After these early moments of familial bliss and celebration, the project of
raising the young boy to promising manhood lay before them. Early on
Michael would have been consigned to his parent’s bedroom; soon how-
ever, he was taken out into the yard and maybe even the street before
the family house, where he was introduced to the neighbors. Eventually,
once old enough, he was let loose, not without some supervision, in the
streets of his hometown, Attaleia.
In one of the most interesting rhetorical texts of the eleventh cen-
tury, the encomium to his mother, Michael Psellos, a contemporary of
Attaleiates’, reminisces about his childhood. The philosopher takes us
to the warmest most innocent moments of his childhood and extols his
mother’s piety by noting how as a child he was never treated to bedtime
stories drawn from the pagan myths. It was the world of scriptural edi-
fication that his mother brought to life in her efforts to put the young
prodigy to sleep. A few years younger than Psellos, Attaleiates was simi-
larly proud of his parents’ piety.5 He tells us little, however, about them
and nothing he records comes close to Psellos’ intricate psychological
portraits. Yet, the world in which Attaleiates was born had its fair share
of folk tales and blood-curdling stories. As Michael grew older, he was
bound to have heard from his friends, for this was not the stuff of lulla-
bies, the story of the “bane of Attaleia.”
Known to us from its western European variants, the most famous of
which comes from the “Travels of Sir John Mandeville,” the story was in
effect a dark thriller. It was set in the distant pagan past of Attaleia and
brought together the mythical Gorgon and errant knights in an adven-
ture of bloody twists and turns. The story, as Attaleiates perhaps knew
it, was simple in its gothic horror. A noble young warrior, who fails to
get the hand of his beloved lady, visits her tomb upon her death and
performs an act of desperate love and sacrilege. He opens the sarcoph-
agus, lies with her and at the end of his deed hears the dead lady as she
addresses him with the simple request that he come by the tomb in nine
months to see the spawn of their love. The young man returns indeed
after the end of the unnaturally allotted time, opens the sarcophagus and
finds a head most horrible to behold. His deceased lover explains to him
4 ATTALEIA: THE BUSY, BUSTLING FRINGE 57
that this head is their child and that it would allow him to exact horri-
ble vengeance from his enemies. Whoever sees it will simply experience
the most painful of deaths. The young man “adopts” the head, which he
keeps in a locked box until one day a favorite from among his servants,
or alternatively his wife or new lover, curious to unlock the great mystery
of his life opens it and shows it to the man himself who dies on the spot
having fatefully gazed at the eyes of his monstrous love child. Eventually,
as the stories have it, the head is tossed into the waters of the gulf of
Attaleia where its terrible powers account for the many horrible wonders
of the area.6
Such a story would certainly have resonated with Attaleiates and
his contemporaries. In the vicinity of Attaleia, one could find clear evi-
dence of worlds turned upside down, of cities unhinged from the solid
ground on which they had once stood proud, and tossed into the water.
Waterspouts jumped out of the calm waters, close to the beach, where
the sweet outflow of Lycia’s coastal springs and rivers merged with salty
Mediterranean water, vortices threatened swimmers, while submerged
Greek and Roman cities made navigating the coast on the approaches to
Attaleia a challenging task.7 The sunken cities of the gulf of Attaleia were
the stuff of legend but also an interesting reminder of the past’s pres-
ence. The young Attaleiates would have known of staircases descending
into the water and sarcophagi barely protruding from the surf of the sea.
The dead cities that lay submerged, just beneath the sea level, belonged
in the material world he lived in, not too far beyond his visual and men-
tal horizon. Attaleia was a microcosm of the empire: ancient and brim-
ming with traditions all too often pagan, drawn from its living past. Let
us then move from the land of gothic horror, necrophilia, and treacher-
ous sailing to the city itself in which Attaleiates was born and spent his
childhood.
Michael Attaleiates’ hometown is located in the southern coast of
Asia Minor to the northwest of the island of Cyprus. It was founded
in 150 BC by King Attalos II of Pergamon and soon after became the
object of interest for Rome’s ambitious leaders. Attaleia’s cultural and
political links to the kingdom of Pergamon encode important informa-
tion regarding the city’s significance on the Eastern Mediterranean sea-
board. While a look at the map confirms the importance of the city as a
maritime trading post on busy sea-routes, it was its connections to the
interior that made Attaleia truly important.8 When Attalos invested his
kingdom’s treasure in a new city that would establish his presence on the
58 D. KRALLIS
Mediterranean it was Attaleia’s links to the interior that led him to that
location. The city is built on a fertile, if indeed narrow plain, more or less
bounded by the western extensions of the Taurus and Pisidian mountains
to the North. The plain itself is the offspring of two rivers, the Kestros
and the Eurymedon. Already from the time of the Romans three routes
existed that took heavy wheeled traffic from the seacoast to the interior
of Asia Minor, toward Karia, Lykaonia, and Kappadokia. Attaleia was
the only coastal city in Asia Minor east of the Kilikian centers of Tarsos,
Adana, and ancient Antioch in Kilikia, with access to North-South routes
leading to important economic and political centers of Asia Minor. This
peculiar geographical setting impacted Attaleiates, who grew close to the
water and the open horizons it afforded, but also developed a keen inter-
est for things Anatolian. It appears as if the landmass to the North of
Attaleia exerted a permanent appeal to the expat Attaleiote, who in years
to come was to write with passion about the need to defend it from his
new home in Constantinople.
In Constantinople, it was cured fish and, sometimes, the enjoyment
of fresh grilled catch from the waters of the Bosporus and the Marmara
that sated the appetite of the hungry man looking for a snack. This
experience is replicated today when a tourist walks the shores of the
Golden Horn in modern Istanbul. One may order silver-blue spotted
mackerel, grilled over charcoal, and served on a parsley bed with lemon
wedges and onion shavings or maybe a slice of turbot, floured and
deep-fried, or a levrek (filet of seabass). We can be sure that Attaleiates’
Constantinopolitans shared this experience.9 The sea influenced their
tastes and defined the basic parameters in which the capital’s food sup-
ply operated. Attaleiates finished his life in the capital, fed for years,
one may safely assume, on a steady diet of Bosporus catch. What was it,
however, that the local population enjoyed as a snack in the streets, the
public squares or even the harbor of Attaleia, where the judge was born
and raised? What were Michael’s childhood meals like? We get a possible
answer to this question by looking toward Attaleia’s much older neigh-
bor, the city of Phaselis, known in antiquity for its dedication to trade
and its annual sacrifice of cured fish to the gods.10 The local economy
evidently placed a premium on the products of the sea, the only element
of the local diet considered valuable enough to be offered to the gods.
In the Middle Ages, the relationship between Phaselis and Attaleia was
a tight one. The building-boom generated by the growth of the latter in
the tenth and eleventh centuries spurred “scavenging” operations in the
region of the former. Phaselis’ buildings were pillaged for the fortifica-
tions of Attaleia to be erected. Attaleia’s walls embedded spolia of a clas-
sical past, much as in Attaleiates’ texts the literary detritus of antiquity
structures, informs, and inflects his argument.11
If Phaselis gives us one, albeit limited hint about the diet and the
economy of Attaleia, a latter-day traveler, the Ottoman writer Evliya
Celebi, noted in his seventeenth-century account that the city was
famous for its oranges, dates, olives, and figs.12 At an earlier time, an
Arab traveler visiting Romanía, Ibn Hauqal, noted that Attaleia was
a strong fort with a productive hinterland. The alluvial plain of the
Eurymedon and Kestros rivers enriched its soil keeping the city’s hin-
terland fertile. And yet, the two rivers were Janus-like. Celebi explained
that the Eyrymedon (Duden in Turkish) was rather calciferous and that
the pipes used to channel its waters into Attaleia had to be cleared on a
yearly basis so as not to stem the water supply. As for the Kestros, Celebi
described it as a powerful but good-for-nothing river. Fed by snow melt-
ing on the Taurus, the Kestros has a strong current, yet its rich alluvial
deposit proved a mixed blessing for the area. Today the river is some
hundred meters wide where it meets the sea, yet narrow and shallow in
other parts of its delta. Even though in antiquity it used to be navigable
for some eleven kilometers upstream toward the direction of Perge, this
was no longer the case in the Middle Ages. The alluvium from the river
made its delta shallow enough to render it unusable by vessels that draw
more than one foot of water, thus striking a blow to the economy of
Perge. As if that was not enough, the languid waters of the delta created
a mosquito-infested lagoon-like area, which gave, so Celebi claims, the
local population the yellow skin tinge of malaria.13
During the summer months then, Attaleiotes sought refuge from
the heat in the neighboring mountain slopes, where one could hope to
avoid the malarial humidity of the hot plain. The climb up toward the
mountain areas would have brought Attaleiates and his family in a land
of ancient ruins, with all the myths and demons associated with them.
The plain of Attaleia and its environs were rich in history. Termessos
and Phaselis in the west and Perge, Sylaion, Aspendos, and Side in the
east were all ancient cities, which were still alive, even if in the form of
smaller agglomerations of houses, built on top of and among the ruins
of antiquity. Attaleiates’ excursions in the area would have exposed him
to a lively, continuing dialogue between past and present at roughly
the same age when his first contact with Homer’s heroic ethos came to
60 D. KRALLIS
challenge familiar scriptural injunctions. On occasion, the past was so

majestic that it overwhelmed the present and perhaps shaped Attaleiates’
later writing. A visit in the area of Aspendos, forty kilometers to the east
of Attaleia brought one before what is today the best-preserved theater
of the Roman world. Colonnaded streets, remains of late Roman, and
early Byzantine buildings and ruins of a past long-gone remained deeply
engrained in Attaleiates’ mind and certainly marked his sense of self.
When years later in 1064 an earthquake struck the Hellespont
Attaleiates wrote extensively about its effects on the local cities focusing
on damage to his own property. He, however, could not ignore the dev-
astation of venerable ancient monuments and noted
In the Hellespont, Kyzikos was especially struck, where the ancient Greek
temple was also shaken and most of it collapsed. This had been quite a
sight to behold on account of the solidity of its construction, the technical
harmony by which it was built out of beautiful and great blocks, as well as
on account of its height and size.14
In the vicinity of Attaleia, the fortifications of the city were reinforced

and expanded in the tenth century during the reign of Leon VI and the
early days of Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos’ rule. The inscription set
up on those walls by Leon was a lesson in Roman political ideology. The
emperor noted here
Always displaying fatherly care, /treating all subjects as his children /the
most serene and pious emperor/ Leo, with his sweetest son Konstantinos/
always acting with compassion …./ cared for the salvation of everyone/
and saving the said Christ loving city/ wisely fortified it with a second
wall.15
The inscription highlighted the links between the provinces and

Constantinople, and spoke of the emperor’s duty to even his most dis-
tant subjects. Attaleia may have indeed been far from the capital, yet the
emperor evidently kept his eyes on it.
Another inscription, dated to the early tenth century, commemorated
the completion of an extensive wall renovation program and proclaimed
Attaleia “of all cities the best fortified, pride of the Romans and rampart
against the infidel Hagarenes.” The regency council for Konstantinos
Porphyrogennetos, presided by his mother Zoe reinforced at the time
the older Roman wall in response to increased Arab naval activity in the
area. Ironically, Leon of Tripoli, the Muslim admiral who led the spec-
tacular expedition that captured and looted Thessalonike in 904, was
behind much of the raiding in question. Leon drew his origins from
Attaleia. A third inscription gives us the name of the head of the fleet,
the Droungarios Stephanos Abastaktos (the insufferable), who evidently
also contributed to the defenses of the city.16 The walls of Attaleia on
which we find those inscriptions extended from the area of the harbor,
which the latter-day visitor Evliya Celebi notes was an artificial one, all
the way to the 30-meter cliff atop which the acropolis was built.17 In
Attaleiates’ time, the locals would still enter the city through the gate of
Hadrian, erected in honor of the Roman Emperor’s second-century visit
(Fig. 4.1).
The inscriptions discussed here highlight an important aspect of
Attaleia’s character and identity: This was a frontier city. Even if the
mountains to its north and the rough Kilikian coast ensured that land
Fig. 4.1 Hadrian’s Gate in Attaleia—Antalya, Turkey

62 D. KRALLIS
invasions could not easily reach it, its location on the Pamphylian littoral
placed it at the forefront of the empire’s naval defenses. In fact, Attaleia
was a forward base of the imperial navy and center of the Kibyrraiotai
Theme, the empire’s most important naval force, if one excluded the
imperial fleet in Constantinople. There were two divisions of the fleet
(droungai); one located in Attaleia, under the so-called admiral of the
Gulf (Droungarios toy Kolpou), and one on the Island of Kos. Next to
them, there were two leaders of the ground forces located in other cit-
ies of the Theme. Eight days from the capital on the fast imperial post
horses that traveled across Anatolia, and fifteen days on the more circui-
tous sea-lanes, Attaleia was both near and far from empire’s nerve center.
This liminal position exposed the city to diverse cultural influences
that transcended the narrow realities of the Pamphylian coast. An impor-
tant cipher in the mosaic that was Attaleia’s population was added in the
late seventh century. In the 690s, an agreement between the Caliph and
Emperor Justinian II allowed for the relocation of 12,000 Mardaites into
the territories of the empire. The Mardaites remain a mysterious eth-
nic group of tribesmen originally settled in highland areas of Anatolia,
Isauria, Syria and on Mount Lebanon.18 Over the years, scholars attrib-
uted to them Armenian origins and saw them as Zoroastrian converts to
Christianity, while others associated them with today’s Maronites. The
most recent scholarly efforts remain decidedly non-committal. We know
with greater certainty that a significant portion of those men and their
families were relocated in the late seventh century from their original
areas of settlement in the lands of the Caliphate to Attaleia where they
were immediately dragooned into the Roman Navy. Placed under their
own commanders, they manned numerous ships, led by the Katepano of
the Mardaites.19 The presence of a distinct ethnic and linguistic group
with a clearly defined corporate identity among the Romans of Attaleia
raises a question about the speed of their integration in the Greek-
speaking body of the city’s inhabitants. Did the frontier nature of the
town pressure the newcomers into fast assimilation or did elements of
their identity survive to Attaleiates’ days? It seems that in the tenth cen-
tury when reference to extensive Roman naval activity can be found in
both Byzantine and Arab sources, the Mardaites still operated as an inde-
pendent unit with their own leaders. There is, however, evidence that
the structure keeping the thematic navy and the units of the Mardaites
independent from each other occasionally led to antagonism. This forced
authorities in Constantinople to take measures that would ensure the
seamless operation of local military assets.20 One solution to this prob-

lem is found in contemporary evidence. A certain Niketas, who had
already served as supreme commander of the Kibyrraiotai, petitioned the
emperor with the request that his son Abekrios be appointed Katepano
of the Mardaites.21 On the one hand, the Near Eastern name of Niketas’
son suggests that he may have issued from a Mardaite family. On the
other, control of the city’s two highest naval commands by one family
offers evidence that Attaleia had seen the emergence of a military aristoc-
racy with a hold on important imperial commands.
Furthermore, the effective lobbying of the emperor on the part of
Niketas confirms the presence in Constantinople, already in the tenth
century, of a group of influential Attaleiotes lobbying at court in favor of
their fellow countrymen.22 While emperors were careful to rotate their
high-ranking imperial personnel in order to avoid the development of
too strong a link between commander and provincial population, in the
case of the three naval themes, which required special skills from their
military commanders, this proved difficult. It is therefore hardly surpris-
ing that local families with long careers in the navy came to dominate the
military establishment in Attaleia developing over the years connections
to the court in Constantinople. Those connections surely proved useful
when the young Attaleiates moved into the daunting social landscape of
the capital in search of a career.
On the empire’s maritime frontier with the prosperous and fre-
quently aggressive Muslim world, Attaleia was a storied navy town but
also an important entrepôt. Its harbor was full of vessels sailing in from
the east with glass products from Egypt, silk, and linen from Syria and
other distant lands in Asia, as well as spices from the Indies. Already in
the tenth century, a period otherwise marked by active warfare between
Romanía and its neighbors, the city collected 300 pounds of gold in
tolls from merchants who sailed in its harbor. Another 30,000 dinars
(roughly the same amount in Byzantine gold coins) accrued from finan-
cial transactions.23 By the eleventh century, as Roman expansion in Syria
diminished the town’s military role, its commercial significance rose.
On the sea-lanes from the Latin west to Palestine and Egypt, Attaleia
became a port of call for Italian merchants seeking exotic goods for
the Kings and upper classes of the west. If Ioannes Tzetzes presented
twelfth-century Constantinople as a linguistic Babel, Attaleiates experi-
enced similar conditions by the Mediterranean before he ever set out for
the capital. Christians from Egypt felt at home in the town’s churches
64 D. KRALLIS
where the cult of the Virgin Aigyptia (the Egyptian) was celebrated.24
Armenian merchants came to his hometown looking for stout slaves,
Rabanite, and Karaite Jews visited in the course of their journeys around
the Mediterranean, while Muslims from the Near East and North
Africa traded with Italians and other Europeans in the city’s streets and
markets.25
And yet, even in the heady years of the first half of the eleventh cen-
tury, when no force on the diplomatic and military horizon appeared to
challenge the empire, the affluence and vibrant nature of the city’s com-
mercial activities could be interrupted by news of an approaching war
fleet and by the depredations of pirates. Basileios II’s full-spectrum mili-
tary dominance had not turned the Eastern Mediterranean into a Roman
lake. In fact, three years after Basileios’s death, in 1028, news arrived at
the Jewish community of Cairo of the abduction in Roman waters, just
outside Attaleia, of a number of Jewish merchants. Two ships traveling
apparently in convoy had been stopped by pirates.26 Attaleiates would
have experienced many an alarm, crews rushing to the ships and the oars
of the galleys quickly put in motion even as the families of the sailors
huddled to the piers to see the fleet head out to the uncertainty of pur-
suit and battle.
One such mobilization took place shortly before Attaleiates left for
Constantinople. In the summer of 1035, news reached the admiralty
in Attaleia of a large Arab fleet from Sicily active in Roman waters. The
town’s entire flotilla was mobilized and set out with all the fanfare and
ceremony associated with such events. Vigils were no doubt held in
churches around town, the clergy blessed the ships’ insignia and flags,
and the city was in motion as almost everyone in it had a family member
serving in the navy. Before the thematic fleet ever engaged the enemy,
the Arabs had managed to land in the vicinity of the city of Myra, birth-
place of St. Nicolas and home to his vibrant cult, inflicting on it severe
damage. News of this disaster will have reached Attaleia overland before
the eventual return of the fleet, thus heighteing feelings of uncertainty
among the Attaleiotes. When the fleet entered the city’s harbor weeks
later after a long-naval pursuit and a crushing victory over the enemy
they no doubt caused a sensation.27 The last significant Arab naval expe-
dition in the Aegean was destroyed in a great battle at the Cyclades
hundreds of miles away from the fleet’s base. Stories of Roman seaman-
ship and bravery surely passed from mouth to mouth, while everyone
noted the deserved punishment meted on the Saracens: 500 were sent in
chains to the emperor in Constantinople, the rest were either drowned at

sea or impaled along Asia’s Aegean coast. To the teenage Attaleiates the
droungarios of the fleet, his officers, their marines and the sailors would
no doubt have been heroes.
Such experiences surely influenced Attaleiates’ later-day perspective on
Roman politics. A man born in a city accustomed to victory and prosper-
ity ended his life in the capital of a rapidly collapsing world. Memories of
Roman heroes coming home from the frontlines of the war against the
enemy to a cheering welcoming crowd would have reminded Attaleiates
of the possibility of Roman victory at a time when it was truly difficult to
find much to be optimistic about. In the mid-thirties, however, the pros-
pect of the empire’s demise could not have been envisaged. Attaleia was
a boomtown and it is likely that his family shared in the prosperity gener-
ated by empire’s successes of the past century. Yet life in Attaleia was also
bound to skew Attaleiates’ perspective on Romanía’s society as a whole.
The empire was a predominantly agricultural space, where millions of
farmers produced wealth that officials from distant Constantinople col-
lected in order to keep the state running and the polity defended. As we
saw, in Attaleia the situation was quite different. Here one was exposed
to different nations on a daily basis and learned to treat foreigners as
part of life. Attaleiates’ hometown was not some isolated backwater with
little exposure to the world. It was home to an economy rather differ-
ent from that shaping the lives of most Roman citizens. People here
made a living through trips to distant lands and the exchange of goods.
Attaleia’s economy was highly monetized and open to the outside world.
Above all, Attaleia’s society was built around the navy and the sailors.
In some ways, this navy town on the shores of the Mediterranean had
more in common with ancient city-states, like Athens, Corinth, Corcyra,
and Rhodes, than with cities in the empire’s hinterland. Just the oars-
men on its warships, many of whom doubled as marines when battle was
struck mid-sea, would have brought its population to 5000 men. With
merchant marine personnel, marines serving on the fleet’s ships, farmers
from the lands around it, tradesmen, and other service industries staff, as
well as women, children and the elderly, Attaleia most certainly enjoyed a
relatively stable population of anywhere between 15 and 25,000 people,
making it one of Romanía’s larger urban centers.
Attaleiates gives us a hint of the intimate mesh between the navy
and the general population of the city in a peculiar story he narrates for
his readers in the History. In an account of heroic deeds attributed to
66 D. KRALLIS
the legendary warrior-emperor Nikephoros II Phokas, Attaleiates dis-

cusses the tenth-century campaign for the re-conquest of the island
of Crete from the Saracens. The story reads at times like a personal
account of a bragging sailor. The emperor, we are told, led the fleet
from Asia Minor toward Crete, but was lost on the way on account of
the lack of navigation intelligence regarding travel toward this part of
the Mediterranean. Like stories of sea monsters and devastating tem-
pests, Phokas’ exploits mirrored the Odyssey, the Saracens likened to the
Cyclops and Lestrigones of the Homeric epic. Once the fleet reached
the island Nikephoros ordered a church to be built in order to propiti-
ate the divine. Attaleiates then notes that given the large amount of arti-
sans, builders, painters, and, in general, men with the requisite skills who
served in the imperial host, the church was built in three days, stunning
the Saracens and pleasing God. This story, no doubt based on one or
more of the numerous accounts of the island’s re-conquest in circulation,
suggests that the empire’s naval forces were not comprised of full-time
mariners, but rather of citizens from diverse professional backgrounds.
In Attaleia of Michael’s youth, the idea of a citizen soldier or sailor was
quite real.28
A certain look on Attaleia that would treat it as part of the empire
but also as a city-state, quasi-independent in its operation and able to
fend for itself, was also reinforced by the nature of its admiral’s power.
The droungarios of the fleet was not simply a commander of the navy.
He was not merely a leader of men. His post, more so than that of other
military officers of his time, was more like CEO of a diverse conglomer-
ate of industries and trades that came together to keep the fleet afloat.
While the droungarios did lead the fleet in battle, his role was mostly
non-military. He was responsible for building new ships, deciding what
types of vessels were necessary for different military operations and then
for the upkeep and maintenance of those galleys already in operation.29
At his orders, the citizens of Attaleia would take excursions to the rivers
by their city to pick nicely rounded pebbles for use as projectiles during
sea battle. Others roamed the countryside in search of snakes, scorpions,
vipers, and lizards to throw at the enemy during battle.30 At his com-
mand, carpenters and lumberjacks from among his crews took trips to
Kilikia and Cyprus, as well as the mountains above Attaleia, to cut down
the trees necessary for shipbuilding.31 His word put in motion machin-
ery that converted the natural surroundings of the Attaleiotes into
resources for the empire’s navies.
There was therefore something quite different in the way that Attaleia
operated in comparison with the average urban center in the empire.
While in the middle of Anatolia a town that functioned as a center for
the military administration was often but a glorified fort, the base for a
small number of soldiers and the muster station for those troops of the
theme that converged on it at a commander’s order from the villages,
towns, and rural areas of the province, in Attaleia, the city was the navy.
Rare among the empire’s cities Attaleia was a place where the might of
the empire was everywhere before you. Here the lives of each citizen
were tightly linked to those of the soldiers and oarsmen defending them.
Like ancient Roman legionaries in the field of Mars, Attaleiotes came
together at the order of the droungarios, to train, listen to his harangues
and receive orders for their coming deployments.32 All this took place
in the presence of relatives who took the navy for granted. Living in this
city, Michael Attaleiates was exposed to ideas of governance and admin-
istration that raised expectations as to what Romanía’s leaders were
supposed to be capable of. He lived in what was effectively a medieval
Roman city-state, whose citizens assumed an integral role in its defense.
The sea could be treacherous as local folktales and stories would
attest, but those same waters were a source of wealth and inspiration.
The people of Attaleia were seafarers. At a later date, in the thirteenth
century when the area became independent from its Seljuq rulers, the
local emirates that sprung out of this chaotic post-Byzantine situation
could field as many as 300 small-size warcraft. Such activity was by no
means new in the area. In the time of the Roman Republic, the south-
ern shores of Asia Minor had given the Mediterranean world its most
famous pirate kingdoms. At the time of Attaleiates’ childhood, the city
stood on the side of law and order. It was the center of a Roman mar-
itime province, tasked, among other things, with anti-pirate operations.
As a child, Michael would have had vivid memories of masts piercing
the sky like lances of an army on parade. This same image emerges years
later when, in describing the royal entry of Nikephoros Botaneiates in
Constantinople, Attaleiates explained how the empire’s merchant marine
created a forest of masts as it sailed out in the Sea of Marmara to receive
the new emperor.33 In his youth, Attaleiates walked among foreign trav-
elers, who visited his hometown. Their multicolored clothes no doubt
intrigued him and he likely kept a keen ear for their strange dialects and
languages. From the pier of Attaleia’s harbor, he saw their boats drop
anchor and then eventually open sail for distant lands. From a young
68 D. KRALLIS
age, he knew that the world around him was much larger than what
his senses allowed him to perceive. He would in fact have approved of
Psellos’ analysis of the earth’s spherical nature, supported as it was by the
nautical image of the ship’s sail slowly appearing from behind the hori-
zon only gradually to reveal the rest of the vessel from top to bottom.34
We find hints of Attaleiates’ childhood experience in the details of his
adult life, to be followed in the coming chapters.
While Attaleia’s military caste and merchant class are backdrops
against which to read Attaleiates’ social experience in his hometown,
some of his early brushes with Roman society’s social distinctions were
to come in the form of language. Attending liturgy with his family in
their neighborhood church, he would have been struck by the difference
between the language of the gospels and that spoken by most people
in his close social circle. Moving, as kids are want to do, up and down
the isle of the church he would have noticed that the progression from
the back rows frequented by the family’s servants toward the middle,
where his father and male relatives sat and finally the part occupied by
the neighborhood’s richer men at the very front, was coupled by a slow,
almost imperceptible at first, linguistic shift. Why did some among the
richer folk use peculiar twists of phrase? Why did they, every so often,
speak of foreign affairs by referring to Persians when the poor at the
back of the church talked of Saracens? Why did fancy clothing go hand
in hand with odd language? The problem of language was alas not con-
tained within church walls. When he walked around Attaleia’s fortifica-
tions and looked at the various inscriptions that studded the city’s walls
with declarations of official patriotism he no doubt noticed that some
of them were simply incomprehensible by the common man. A case in
point the imperial dedications of Leon VI and his son, discussed above
on the one hand, and the pretentious writing of Abastaktos’ (insufferable
in Greek) inscription on the other.35 While the emperors wished to reach
as many of their subjects as possible with their crisp and precise words,
the Droungarios, an aristocrat, tried to impress his superior status upon
the locals by deploying insufferably pretentious verbiage. Attaleiates’
experience was not uniquely Byzantine. In the late nineteenth and early
twentieth centuries, reasonably well-off merchants and landowners on
the north Aegean Island of Lesvos, a favorite Byzantine place of exile,
spoke a more, or less mangled kathareuousa—the archaizing, highly
artificial version of modern Greek that was the state’s official language
until 1974—in a conscious effort to raise yet another barrier between
themselves and the peasant society living at subsistence level around

them.36 Language had been an essential marker of group identity either
at the class or national level from the days of antiquity, and Michael was
getting his early education on social hierarchies even as he learned how
to speak.
Michael was also exposed to the paradox of this linguistic divide
at home. He tells us that it was his parents who instructed him in the
orthodox word of God. We may assume that his mother, much like
the mother of his contemporary, Michael Psellos, read with him the
Scriptures thus exposing him to the notion of social inequality through
the simple act of reading. The sense that social status was directly linked
to linguistic register would have been further reinforced as Attaleiates
was next introduced to the most important of the classical authors, the
cornerstone of a classical education, Homer. In class with his school-
mates, he would marvel at the alien nature of this ancient form of Greek
and would have experienced the toil, uncertainty, and exhilaration that
come with mastering its intricacies and subtleties. In fact, chances are
that he only became proficient in Homeric Greek later in life, if ever. At
this early stage, back in Attaleia, the language of Homer was as alien as
the classical architectural remains he encountered in the course of his
hikes around his hometown’s countryside. In his frustration over the
steep learning curve he was facing, he may even have felt that the pecu-
liar Mardaite dialect of kids in his neighborhood was less cryptic than
the angry speechifying of Homeric heroes. Such frustrations aside, it was
likely his aptitude in the study of this venerable yet dusty form of Greek
that lay at the root of his move to Constantinople and eventual career at
court.
The thinking behind Eirenikos’ decision to send his son to the
empire’s capital must remain shrouded in mystery. It would perhaps
have been easier for Michael to take over the family business and stay
in Attaleia. In his monastic charter, Attaleiates tells us that he arrived
in Constantinople with no real fortune of his own, having left his pat-
rimony to his two sisters.37 He also notes that all he acquired in life
was the fruit of his own hard work. Might it be that his father recog-
nizing Michael’s potential gave him the wherewithal to seek an educa-
tion and career in Constantinople in order to guarantee a better fate
for his daughters. To this day, the practice is not unheard of. A close
friend chose studies in London over real estate in Athens, which his fam-
ily bequeathed to his sister. Like Attaleiates his training provided him
70 D. KRALLIS
with the means to make more than his less “productive” sister; herself a
trained archaeologist. My friend’s choice of an elite education is evidence of a
dynamic modern world, where movement across large geographical and cul-
tural divides is possible. Yet Attaleiates’ career tells us that this was also true,
to some extent, in Romanía. The provincial boy from the Mediterranean
coast could, like a citizen of Modern Greece, seek the cloud-covered skies
of the North in search of material prosperity and like him he was to enter a
world of higher incomes and prestige through specialized education.
The fact itself that a prosperous future could be imagined by Michael
and his father is indicative of important developments in Medieval
Roman society. Given an ancient and medieval tendency toward eco-
nomic autonomy and the habitual structuring of familial economic enter-
prises around notions of self-sufficiency and autarchy, the leap of faith
required for investment in higher education was significant, unless there
were clearly visible returns associated with such a choice. Another way
to read Attaleiates’ relinquishing of his rights on the family property
in favor of his sisters would be to focus on the cost of such specialized
training. It is likely that his education represented a considerable mon-
etary outlay for his family, conceivably equivalent to the value of land
and property left behind in Attaleia. The family’s choice, however, sug-
gests that such investment was not considered all that risky. To under-
stand how that could in fact be the case, we need to look at the period
itself when Attaleiates moved to Constantinople. This was a time when
the empire was still expanding and the administration in the capital
cast an eye on territories around its borders, which would still have to
be integrated and managed by the Byzantine state. The Roman polity
was therefore growing and finessing its administrative apparatus even as
young Michael was coursing through adolescence.
The Macedonian dynasty, which had ruled the empire from the end of
the ninth century to the death of Basileios II and was still a potent force
in politics with Basileios’s nieces in the role of kingmakers, was known
for its legislative efforts aimed at protecting the empire’s weaker subjects
from the aristocracy. Over the course of the tenth century and especially
under Basileios II, the law became more and more present in the lives
of people as the Constantinopolitan state actively fought abuse. The
effects of this policy on the ground can only be imagined. Generations
of imperial subjects had been raised knowing that the emperor in
Constantinople was the upholder of justice, the ally of the poor, and the
avenger of the oppressed. The rhetorical preamble to a law by tenth-
century Emperor Romanos Lekapenos advertised his commitment to
protecting his subjects from both enemy attacks by Romanía’s foreign

enemies but also from more insidious domestic foes. The “the cutting
sword of legislation,” was therefore deployed against the “greedy dispo-
sition,” “tyrannical yoke,” and oppressing hand of the Byzantine elite.38
Lofty rhetoric, however, called for lofty actions. With the expan-
sion of the empire, the Constantinopolitan bureaucratic apparatus also
expanded, spreading an ideology of justice to communities and lands
previously neglected, or even untouched by Roman law. More than
ever before judges, tax collectors, and agents of the emperor roamed
the provinces. They were conspicuous, dressed in flashy silk robes, com-
peting in grandeur with the traditional doyens of provincial power,
the members of the army officer corps, and other local landowners.39
In Attaleia, more so than in other provincial cities there were quite a
few imperial agents involved in the business of toll collection. As Asia
Minor’s second most important port of entry after Trapezous, Attaleia
provided the state with significant revenues. The kommerkiarioi of
Attaleia, attested in surviving lead seals, were part of the city’s social
fabric.40 Provincials knew well that those imperial agents were not
always Constantinopolitans. In fact very few people in Romanía were
Constantinopolitans. Men and women moved to the capital from some
other fatherland. For Attaleiates’ father an intelligent, hardworking son
could easily be imagined in such fancy robes. Eirenikos could, therefore,
have admonished Michael with the very same words used by Theodore
Prodromos’ father in the twelfth century:
Child, see that man? He used to walk on foot,

He now rides a fat mule with double leather straps;
During his studies he went about shoeless,
But now behold him in pointy shoes!
As a student, he never combed his hair,
now he prides in his hair-do.
And he never cast an eye on the bathhouse gates;
Now he bathes – thrice a week!
Lice the size of almonds used to dwell in his clothes
Now those garments are stuffed with emperor Manuel’s coin.
So learn your letters, trust your old father’s word,
and there’ll be no one like you!41
The emperor’s gold could indeed make you rich were you educated
enough to effectively court it. The largest employer in the empire, the
state itself, was hiring and it was up to those with talent to seek a place
72 D. KRALLIS
in the new order. Attaleiates’ father could only hope that his son would
soon be able to speak a type of pretentious Greek that he, on his part,
would likely not understand. The starker the cultural divide between
generations, the greater the family’s success.
Notes
1. Isodoros of Pelousion, PG 78, 1160; Anthony Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons,
Fathers and Daughters: The Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos (South
Bend, IN: Notre Dame University Press, 2006), p. 173 where Psellos
admits that girls were acceptable too.
2. Anthony Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The
Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos (South Bend, IN: Notre Dame
University Press, 2006), p. 172–75 for the joy brought to family and
friends by a child’s birth.
3. Franz V. Cumont and Franz Boll (ed.), Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum
Graecorum (Brussels: Henry Lemertin, 1904), p. 153.
4. Bernhard Langkavel (ed.), Simeonis Sethi Syntagma de Alimentorum
Facultatibus (Leipzig: Teubrner, 1868), p. 48, lines 19–21 on the associ-
ation of quince and intelligence.
5. Anthony Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The Byzantine
Family of Michael Psellos (South Bend, IN: Notre Dame University Press,
2006), p. 65 on pious lulubies; Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 333.
6. See bibliographical essays for details.
7. Howard Crane, “Evliya Çelebi’s Journey through the Pamphylian Plain in
1671–72,” Muqarnas 10: Essays in Honor of Oleg Grabar (1993), p. 160
for cyclones in Antalya’s harbour; Mehmet Karaca, “Modeling of sum-
mertime meso-β scale cyclone in the Antalya Bay,” Geophysical Research
Letters 24.2 (1997), pp. 151–54.
8. TIB 8, vol. 1, pp. 244–82 on the local road system. Page 245 for a map/
diagram of those roads.
9. Johannes Koder (ed.), Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen in CFHB
33 (Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991),
pp. 126–28 on Constantinopolitan fish markets.
10. Deipnosophistai, III. 52 on the Phaselis fish sacrifice.
11. J. Schäfer, Phaselis: Beiträge zur Topographie und Geschichte der Stadt und
ihrer Häfen (Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1981), p. 37.
12. Evliya Celebi in Howard Crane, “Evliya Çelebi’s Journey through the
Pamphylian Plain in 1671–72,” Muqarnas 10: Essays in Honor of Oleg
Grabar (1993), p. 160 for Attaleia.
13. Crane, “Evliya Çelebi’s Journey,” p. 160 on Malaria.
15. Hansgerd Hellenkemper and Friedrich Hild, TIB 8: Lykien und

Pamphylien I (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften,
2004), p. 302, note 78.
16. TIB 8, p. 301, note 77 for this inscription.
17. Crane, “Evliya Çelebi’s Journey,” pp. 157–58.
18. On the Mardaites see Lawrence Conrad, “The Conquest of Arwād: A
Source-Critical Study in the Historiography of the Early Medieval Near
East,” in The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I: Problems in the
Literary Source Material, ed. Averil Cameron and Lawrence Conrad
(Princeton: Darwin Press, 1992), pp. 317–401; M. Moosa, “The
Relation of the Maronites of Lebanon to the Mardaites and al-Jarājima,”
Speculum 44 (1969), pp. 597–608; and Hrach M. Bartikian, “He lyse
tou ainigmatos ton Mardaiton,” in Byzantium: Tribute to A. N. Stratos
(Athens, 1986), pp. 17–39.
19. TIB 8, p. 300 on Kos, transport and the Mardaites.
1967), pp. 241–43.
21. TIB 8, p. 304, Gyula Moravcsik (ed.), Romilly J. H. Jenkins (tr).,
Constantine Porphyrogenitus: De Administrando Imperio (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1967), pp. 50, 169–212.
1967), pp. 241–43.
23. Johannes H. Kramers and Gaston Wiet (eds.), Ibn Hauqal: La
Configuration de la Terre (Kitāb Sūrat al-ard) (Beirut and Paris: G. P.
Maisonneuve & Larose, 1964), pp. 192–93.
24. John A. Cotsonis and John W. Nesbitt, “The Virgin Aigyptia (The
Egyptian) on a Byzantine Lead Seal of Attaleia,” Byzantion 78 (2008),
pp. 103–13, here pp. 111–13.
25. TIB 8, p. 303.
26. Shelomo D. Goitein, A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities
of the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza 1
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967), p. 214.
27. Ioannes Skylitzes, Synopsis Historion, pp. 374–76, Thurn, pp. 398–99.
28. Attaleiates, History, pp. 409–13, Bekker 224–29; Leon Diakonos, Books
1–2 for campaigning and heroism in Crete in Chares B. Hase (ed.),
Leonis Diaconi Caloënsis Historiae libri decem. Et Liber de velitatione bel
lica Nicephori Augusti (Bonn: Weber, 1828), pp. 7–16 and 24–29, see
Alice M. Talbott and Denis F. Sullivan (tr.), The History of Leo the Deacon
Byzantine Military Expansion in the Tenth Century for Translation
(Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection,
2005), pp. 60–69 and 76–81 for the translation; Theodosios Diakonos
74 D. KRALLIS
in Hugo Criscuolo (ed.), Theodosii Diaconi De Creta capta (Leipzig:

Teubner, 1979).
29. George T. Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI: Text, Translation and
Commentary (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Texts, 2010), pp. 502–9
on procuring materials for fleet; pp. 514–15 on training the navy.
30. Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI, pp. 526–27 on poisonous animals.
31. R. Meiggs, Trees and Timber in the Mediterranean World (Oxford, 1982),
pp. 154–88 and Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI, p. 505 on lumber.
32. Dennis, The Taktika of Leo VI, pp. 516–17.
34. Michael Psellos, Ψελλού προς τον Βασιλέα και κύριον Μιχαήλ τον Δούκαν,
Επιλύσεις Σύντομοι Φυσικών Ζητημάτων in Patrologia Graeca, vol. 122,
col. 785C; Symeon Seth, Σύνοψις Φυσικῶν in Anecdota Atheniensia
et alia 2, ed. Armand Delatte (Paris: Université de Paris, 1939),
pp. 31–33 for the spherical earth.
35. TIB 8, p. 301.
36. Based on personal family interviews.
38. Eric McGeer (trans. and comm.), The Land Legislation of the Macedonian
Emperors (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2000),
p. 60.
39. Hugh Barnes and Mark Whittow, “The Oxford University/British
Institute of Archaeology at Ankara Survey of Medieval Castles of Anatolia
(1993). Yılanlı Kalesi: Preliminary Report and New Perspectives,”
Anatolian Studies 44 (1994), p. 205 on local notables and their impact
on local society.
40. TIB 8, p. 303.
41. PG 33, pp. 1419 ff; for a slightly different translation see Roderick
Beaton, “The rhetoric of poverty: the lives and opinions of Theodore
Prodromos,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 11 (1987), pp. 1–28;
here pp. 3–4.
CHAPTER 5
To the Capital Seeking Wisdom
Leaving Attaleia young Michael likely traveled toward Constantinople on

one of the many freighters that called into his hometown harbor only
to then carry forth in the direction of the capital with the wealth of the
east in their holds. Attaleia’s position, Northwest of Cyprus on a major
trading avenue of antiquity, facilitated such a journey. Michael could
have traveled overland through Asia Minor, yet this trip was only faster
if undertaken on one of the imperial post’s horses. To those, his family
most likely had no access. The sea was therefore the easiest and conceiv-
ably most economic way to travel. Such a passage was nevertheless no
trivial undertaking. His family would have planned it for months putting
together clothes and household effects for the home Michael would set
up in Constantinople. His itinerary likely unfolded over twenty or so
days in the course of which he was exposed to the elements, but also to
a series of exciting novel experiences in the various ports visited by his
ship. In fact, it could all easily have lasted longer than the three weeks of
a more or less direct journey from Attaleia to Constantinople given the
peripatetic pace of commercial sea travel.
Long distance medieval travelers like Attaleiates likely sailed with
the owner and possibly captain of the boat, his one or two sailors, and
a number of other passengers, whose fare complemented the owner’s
income. The empire like every other medieval and ancient state did not
possess fleets of passenger-carrying ferries. Travelers therefore shipped
on freighters as living cargo next to the vessel’s load of tradable goods.
Conditions on board were consequently less than optimal, though for

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_5
76 D. KRALLIS
a young man of Attaleiates’ age this would all have seemed like a great
adventure. The merchantman he boarded would be very much like the
Serçe Limani wreck, meticulously studied by the team from the Institute
of Nautical Archaeology at Texas A&M University. Fifteen meters in
length, not too wide and relatively flat-bottomed, such a vessel was not
particularly seaworthy. Its flat keel made it unstable, yet easy to draw into
the shallow waters of the tiny rocky coves on the Aegean islands and the
Asia Minor coast.
On the ship itself, Attaleiates likely occupied a small reserved com-
partment in the bow. Evidence suggests that passengers carried with
them their personal effects but also board games, like chess and checkers,
for entertainment during long hours of slow, languid sailing. The crew
was often armed and likely comprised of sailors with years of prior service
in Byzantium’s navy. Much like many an airline pilot transferring fighter
jet skills to the more prosaic world of civilian aviation, crews of the
Byzantine merchant marine would sometimes remember the heady days
of action on Romanía’s oared galleys. Their sailing merchantman was a
far cry from the fleet’s longships and yet javelins, swords, and lances were
carried as defenses against Aegean buccaneers and pirates. The ship was a
self-contained world, a temporarily independent society that was bound
together by a traveler’s oath.1 This society fed itself through fishing when
other supplies run low, pushed back outside enemies, and respected the
authority of the captain, whose powers were outlined by age-old stipula-
tions of Roman law.
The nature and size of the vessels imposed a series of rather frequent
stops at various Aegean ports where Michael would replenish his food
supplies while the captain conducted his trade. The young Attaleiates
would therefore have carried with him money with which to cover his
basic expenses, yet his travel allowance would surely have extended
beyond subsistence. Upon boarding the ship, he would have surren-
dered his pouch of coin to the captain for safekeeping, as required by
law.2 On this trip, Michael would have found himself in the company of
fellow travelers. These acquaintances represented potential new social ties
outside the protective environment of Attaleia, where family and neigh-
borhood relations had defined his world. An interesting trader from the
north encountered in any one of their ports of call, an erudite monk liv-
ing on an Aegean island monastery, or even another Attaleiote crossing
Michael’s path could have occasioned spending on wine, a meal, or even
a small gift. On his way to the capital, Attaleiates may even have himself
5 TO THE CAPITAL SEEKING WISDOM 77
conducted some buying and selling, in order to supplement his income.

Coming from a city linked to eastern markets, he could have been car-
rying among his household effects any number of tradable items, from
linens and fruit to perfume and spices. Furthermore, there would
likely have been sums of money earmarked as offerings to the famous
Churches and monasteries visited in his ship’s ports of call. A likely
stop at Ephesos was surely coupled with a tour through the impressive
ancient city ruins and a visit of the venerated shrine of Saint John, where
Attaleiates would have had an opportunity to make an offering on behalf
of his family.
A person traveling from one end of the polity to the other would
have occasion to also reflect on a rather different form of travel while
at Ephesos. A visit to the shrine of the Seven Sleepers would have taken
Attaleiates into the realm of time travel. As a pilgrim in this holy site, he
would have heard how seven Christians from the dark time of the perse-
cuting Emperor Decius hid in a cave to escape death, only to fall asleep
and wake up centuries later in a Christian empire. To Attaleiates, who
later in life as a historian sought virtue in the distant world of the Roman
Republic, such stories of miraculous journeys across the ages would no
doubt have proven resonant.
Toward the end of his trip, with a string of islands from Rhodes,
Kos, Patmos, Samos, Chios, and Lesvos, in the ship’s wake, Michael
would cast his eyes on Gallipoli. Past this fortified promontory lay the
Hellespont and, further North and East, the Sea of Marmara. On his
way to the capital, the captain most likely took to port in the imperial
depot of Abydos in order to pay duties for the merchandise in his ship’s
holds. Abydos presented the traveler with an interesting spectacle. It
retained its ancient grid pattern and was praised by travelers for its broad
streets, beautiful houses, and bustling market. After leaving Abydos the
boat sailed past Raidestos and Selymbria, cities on the north shore of the
Marmara where Attaleiates would in time acquire land. In their harbors,
outlets for the bountiful grain crop of Thrace, the captain could expect
to load up and replace goods he had already sold on his way to the cap-
ital. As with modern cargo ship chartering, the true professional was
judged by his capacity to keep a ship’s holds full at all time. At Raidestos,
the vibrant grain trade would guarantee, given the right timing, a good
freight for the market of the capital.
Some three weeks after setting sail from Attaleia, Michael would be
casting his expectant gaze on the walls of the capital gradually emerging
78 D. KRALLIS
from beyond the horizon. The Golden Gate, imposing even from the
waterline, and the roof of the monastery of Stoudios could both be seen
close to the sea wall. Nearby, the roof tiles from buildings in the neigh-
borhood of Psamatheia, home to St Euthymios’ monastery, gave the
area a sienna-like color, and at a short distance from it, on a hill, the
column of Arkadios stood at the center of the homonymous forum. To
the east, a series of ungainly buildings rising up from behind the sea walls
marked the grain silo area in close proximity to the still active harbor of
Theodosios and further in the direction of the rising sun the porphyry
column of Constantine, with the statue of the first Christian emperor
atop it announced the imposing dome of Hagia Sophia right behind it.
A sixth-century poet described Constantinople’s cathedral church as
a beacon guiding sailors, a new Pharos, that welcomed the immigrant
and the weary traveler.3 Closer to the water Attaleiates would discern
the silhouettes of the palace buildings with the domes of Basileios I’s
Nea Ekklesia and other imperial reception rooms together constituting
a dense monumental tableau. In the sea itself numerous boats of all sizes,
from fishing skiffs to pleasure yachts and freighters went back and forth
to the Asian coast unloading human and other cargo on a myriad private
piers jutting out of the sea walls like weeds from the earth.4
Attaleiates’ “ferry” could have moored at the Kontoskalion—also
known as the harbor of Sophia, named after the energetic wife of the
half-mad sixth-century Emperor Justin II. Here Michael would have
found himself for the first time in his life in close proximity to the hub
of imperial power, the palace rising on the hill to the east of the harbor.
It is, however, equally possible that the captain sailed around the ancient
Acropolis of the city of Byzantium, allowing Michael a vista on the
churches of Saints Sergios and Bacchos, Hagia Sophia and Hagia Eirene,
before entering the Golden Horn and mooring in the Neorion harbor.
Merchants from all around the Mediterranean, sailors and marines of
the imperial fleet, as well as local shop owners thronged in the neigh-
borhood around the harbor, which alone was as large if not larger than
the young traveler’s hometown. Beyond, this area extended a city unlike
any other in Europe with a bustling population of three to four hun-
dred thousand men, women, and children. From here, accompanied by
a family relative or perhaps by someone from the capital’s community of
Attaleiote expatriates, Michael started on his way to new quarters and a
brand new life.
Seeking Knowledge
Attaleiates arrived in the capital shortly before 1041. Much later in life,
he reminisced in the pages of the History about his first eyewitness expe-
rience of high political drama in Constantinople. This was, he notes, the
grand triumphal procession that Emperor Michael IV held in celebra-
tion of his Balkan victory over the rebel Deljan.5 This marked the young
man’s first exposure to imperial propaganda at its most extravagant and
imposing. On a more informal level, Attaleiates had just entered a whole
new world of political gossip. The city would at the time have been
buzzing with stories of the emperor’s infirmity. Such gossip fanned out
of the palace by way of the great houses of the aristocracy. Men with
position at court, the regular attendees of palace events, fed the capi-
tal’s rumor mill. From their place in the courtly order, during ceremo-
nial events, formal auditions, and casual conversations, they observed the
emperor as he became weaker by the day, epilepsy slowly destroying him.
When at home, they talked to their wives in the presence of servants,
who in turn shared the hot new information with cooks in the kitchen.
Once the latter walked out of the house to purchase groceries for the
evening banquet, the emperor’s sickness entered the realm of the mar-
ket. It was now a hot commodity, or better still a public good, material
for songs, ditties, and pamphlets as the people now shaped and dissem-
inated stories about developments otherwise hidden from them behind
tall walls and exclusive opulence.6
Over the years, the conscientious Michael IV had provided them
with ample gossip. His rise to power had been the stuff of romance.
Attaleiates’ new acquaintances would have narrated stories about the
time when his namesake, not yet emperor, was a most desirable young
bachelor at court, a time when the empress could not keep her eyes off
him and conspired with her courtiers to bring him to her presence.7
There was not much that Empress Zoe could do wrong. She was pop-
ular with Constantinopolitans and if she used Michael to murder her
husband so that she could then get him in her bed, the people would
understand.8 Romanos had, after all, been a bit of a buffoon and was
known to keep a mistress himself. The people in the Capital learned
to appreciate their new leader, who was dedicated to Romanía’s well-
being, went to war for her sake and proved victorious. Attaleiates surely
took the pulse of the capital’s population, simply by talking to men and
women in the streets, the market and around long tavern tables. In this
80 D. KRALLIS
great city, he now acquired a novel perspective on the empire. He was no

longer far from events, in a distant province feeding off on the faint ech-
oes of Constantinopolitan developments. From his new standpoint, even
his day-to-day interaction with common folk on the street was a form of
civic education.
In the days soon after his arrival at the capital Attaleiates would
have started looking for an instructor, since, after all, he had come to
Constantinople in search of tutoring in law. Soon he joined the expand-
ing circle of young men seeking knowledge and opportunity in advanced
studies. The educational system of the empire, if we may use the term
system for what was in effect an informal structure of studies, was broken
down in three overlapping layers of basic, middle, and higher education.
This breakdown was marked by a lack of concrete organization. There
were no age limits and no rigid or restrictive terms of study. Such organ-
izational chaos must be attributed to the fact that education existed in a
rather unregulated private economy of knowledge. Even in fields where
a modicum of state regulation appeared necessary, like for example the
realm of legal studies, the acquisition of the requisite skills was in the
hands of private tutors.9
Nothing like the five-year legal curriculum of the famous schools of
Late Antiquity existed in eleventh-century Constantinople. Here law was
but one discipline studied by individuals embarking on higher studies.10
Attaleiates confirms that when he thanks God for providing him “with
sufficient education, first a general curriculum, then philosophy and rhet-
oric, and the holy initiation into laws,” while his contemporary Michael
Psellos tells us that he had acquired his legal skills by exchanging his
expertise in philosophy for the solid legal training of his friend and lat-
er-day Guardian of the Laws Ioannes Xiphilinos.11 Psellos also explains
that he taught philosophy to his friend Niketas, who went on to become
dean in one of the capital’s schools. According to tenth-century sources,
the middle tier of schooling focused on grammar, poetry, and rhetoric.
Psellos, however, boasts that he could recite the Iliad by heart already by
age ten, while shortly before turning sixteen, when he joined as an intern
the staff of a provincial judge, he was taking courses in rhetoric. His
experience suggests that the courses offered in the different tiers of avail-
able schooling were not strictly tied to specific age, but also that one’s
engagement with any one discipline did not necessarily end at the edge
of a given tier. Flux therefore marked a young man’s education.
Competition animated this fluid educational scene. Schools in eleventh-

century Constantinople aggressively courted student loyalties and money.
Christophoros Mytilinaios, a proud graduate and devotee of the School of
Saint Theodore in the Sphorakiou neighborhood, dedicated bilious verses
to the denigration of the headmaster of the rival School of the All-pure
Virgin at Chalkoprateia:
Flee from this place! Let everyone run his fastest!

Let no one come anywhere near this school!
For Midas lives and sees the light again!
and directs the All-pure Virgin’s school.
Why talk so much? Flee, everybody flee,
before you are turned miserably into gold,
seized by the rapacious hands of Midas,
who sits there now and stretches them both,
selling dictations to his pupils for money.12
On his part, Attaleiates clearly associates his move to Constantinople and

its world of competitive learning with his quest for higher studies. Like
other provincial men of his time, he likely completed the first two tiers
of his schooling in his hometown. Had he moved to Constantinople ear-
lier, he would probably have mentioned a relative or some other patron
responsible for quartering him for the duration of his studies. We have
no such information and can therefore plausibly assume that at roughly
the same age when Psellos joined the staff of a provincial judge as a sec-
retary, the sixteen-year-old Attaleiates arrived in the capital. His stud-
ies in Constantinople were to shape his cultural identity propelling him
past obstacles that he faced on account of his provincial origins and out-
sider status. With such precious training, Attaleiates was able to, in time,
become a member of the senate and advisor of emperors.
His move to the “Queen of Cities” could not have been better
timed. In the early 1040s, Psellos was taking his first steps as a teacher
in Constantinople while academic halls echoed with the lectures of
Mauropous and Xiphilinos. Attaleiates offers no evidence regarding his
own experience in this environment. We know nothing concrete regard-
ing his instructors, yet it is rather likely that he either studied under, or
at least audited some lectures by the intellectual superstars of his age.
Among these men, Psellos claimed somewhat immodestly to have single-
handedly revived the study of philosophy in the empire. Like Abelard
82 D. KRALLIS
in twelfth-century Paris, Psellos wrote that he recruited students from

beyond the empire’s frontiers.13 It is hard to imagine that a young man
studying in the capital at the time would have missed the opportunity to
sample such lofty wisdom.
Attaleiates had received a Christian education from his parents.
He owed his intellectual maturation, however, to a process of critical
engagement with the world, its wonders, and Christianity itself. As a
student in the era of Psellos, young Michael was exposed to ideas that
unsettled some of his contemporaries. Psellos studied the world around
him through the prism of reason and processed what he saw in a phil-
osophical framework. Yet his immodest statements about his contribu-
tion to the body of knowledge available to the people of his time hide
a more complex reality. Next to Psellos, a series of popular astrono-
mers, astrologers, and all-round men of science offered Attaleiates and
the other students in their classes a view of the natural world that was
predicated upon empirical observation. The study of astronomy and
its handmaiden, astrology, becomes here a byword for the broader
spirit of “scientific enquiry” permeating the eleventh-century intellec-
tual endeavor. Thus in discussing earthquakes, a common talking point
among Constantinopolitans precariously perched on the edges of the
seismically active Anatolian fault, Psellos was but one man among many
proposing interesting theoretical explanations to nature’s mysteries. In
his hands, the classicizing curriculum of the Roman classroom became
much more than training for an elite that spoke an alien form of Greek.
Through Psellos’ lectures, antiquity and its texts emerged as tools for the
dissection, analysis, and reconstitution of contemporary reality, both nat-
ural and moral.
All this did not unfold in a cultural void. In the years that followed
the reign of Michael IV, Emperor Konstantinos IX Monomachos
emerged as a strong patron of education. A potent symbol of this emper-
or’s commitment to enquiry can be found in the following episode. At
some point during his reign, Konstantinos imported a giraffe and an
elephant to the capital, animals with which to emphasize the empire’s
global reach. To some, the move no doubt seemed like an attempt to
compete with Rome’s ancient glory. Most people attending palace cere-
monies had stepped on mosaics that depicted monkeys, palm trees, and a
world of North African exoticism that some four centuries past lay in the
emperor’s ambit. While this was certainly no longer the case, Romans
in the eleventh century felt confident about their place in their world
and the exotic creatures in the emperor’s bestiary spoke to this sense of
confidence.
On this occasion, however, imperial propaganda also served the curi-
osity of naturalists, who could now expand on encyclopedic work by
their tenth-century predecessors through direct observation. One can
only imagine public lectures before those majestic beasts, lectures likely
followed by an interested and approving imperial patron and his cote-
rie of officials. As a student, Attaleiates sampled this heady intellec-
tual environment and records in the History the arrivals of those beasts
(Fig. 5.1).14
In this era of curiosity, sacred tenets of the Byzantine worldview were
inevitably challenged as in the words of a colleague “the orthodoxy of
culture – the definition and content of right thinking – became increas-
ingly flexible, diverse, and inclusive of contradictions.”15 This is evident
in the writings of Attaleiates’ fellow courtier, the astronomer/astrol-
oger Symeon Seth, who questioned the ideas of the great Ptolemy on
the coordinates of the stars on the night sky. Seth confidently argued in
favor of new astronomical calculations and suggested that the wisdom
and observations of the modern (Arabic speaking and Muslim) Egyptians
surpassed that of the Hellenistic Greeks.16 His audacity becomes fully
apparent when we realize that Ptolemy’s astronomical work and his the-
ories on the relationship between the earth and the sun (which Seth did
in fact not challenge) were only conclusively disproved with the work of
Nicolaus Copernicus in the sixteenth century.
Seth was by no means alone at court. In 1063, Sergios the Persian, a
protospatharios and Hypatos, commissioned an astrolabe, the single such
instrument surviving from Byzantium. The otherwise unknown Sergios
cuts an interesting figure. His titles place him well within the sphere of
the Byzantine court and it is for us to speculate about his specific duties in
the empire’s administration. While we can in no way safely presume that
he was a judge, like Attaleiates, he nevertheless appears to have belonged
to similar circles. His sobriquet, the Persian, was likely a classical allusion
to his Near Eastern origins placing him among a broad circle of Christian
Syrians and Mesopotamians frequenting Romanía’s court at the time.
Even more fascinating is Sergios’ sense of self, as this emerges from a
careful study of the astronomical organ he commissioned and bequeathed
to posterity. On the astrolabe itself, Sergios had the following sentence
inscribed: “decree and command of Sergios protospatharios and Hypatos
man of science in the month of July, fifteenth indiction, year 6570.”
84 D. KRALLIS
Fig. 5.1 Exoticism on the palace floors

Here then we have an individual well placed in a medieval court, treat-

ing science as a defining element of his identity. It seems that he was
not alone. In fact, Attaleiates’ eleventh-century circles echoed loud with
debates among intellectuals regarding the workings of the world and the
firmament. So much is clear from Psellos’ public lectures and private cor-
respondence. While a rigorist minority among the members of the church
advocated a narrow path of interpretation that focused on God’s will as
the organizing principle behind life as humans experienced it, men like
Psellos and Sergios pushed the boundaries of inquiry and asked questions
that surely raised some eyebrows.
Rational inquiry appears to have defined the identity of numerous
courtiers in the eleventh century. However, much of what we treat as
Byzantine science did not display what we would today describe as
proper scientific method. The answers to the questions asked by modern
science were never straightforward in the Middle Ages and in any case
they were usually sought in books and traditions that harked back to a
pre-Christian era. Works of Ptolemy, Galen, Aristotle, and Eraseistratos
are but few of the corpora that shaped medieval Roman notions and the
practice of science. Hallowed works of scientific thought were not, how-
ever, the only means by which Romans in the Middle Ages sought to
understand nature. In Attaleiates’ personal collection, we find a seismo
brontologeion, a manual on thunder and earthquakes, which the judge
apparently consulted even as he no doubt read more formal works of
science. The distinction, clearer in our day, between science and para-
scientific pursuits and works was somewhat harder to draw in Attaleiates’
time. What was it then about earthquakes and thunder that fascinated
eleventh-century erudites and spurred his interest?
Perhaps the question needs to be reformulated and redirected: What
was it about those phenomena that piqued the interest of tenth-century
Emperor Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos, who stipulated that books of
divination should always be carried by the emperor when on campaign?17
What benefit would a military campaign accrue from that kind of knowl-
edge? The answer to this question may only emerge if we set aside mod-
ern ideas of causation. While books on earthquake and thunder were not
what we would today describe as scientific works, they nevertheless rep-
resented a form of knowledge, which in medieval eyes had very practi-
cal applications. The reader of a seismobrontologeion was not an irrational
obscurantist. He was rather an interpreter of correlations, who sought to
link specific natural phenomena with forthcoming events in human life
86 D. KRALLIS
and history through assessment of past event pairs. By studying earth-

quake and thunder, he in effect looked to gain a modicum of control
over future events. Like an observer of the skies, associating constella-
tions and the positions of stars with specific historical outcomes, the user
of a seismobrontologeion sought to control the future. Modern readers of
positivist bent will with reason find such an approach to decision-making
problematic and may be appalled by the idea that the head of a well-
constituted polity and his closest advisors would go to battle with such
books in hand. Before, however, we deliver too harsh a verdict on the
medieval Romans we should perhaps remember the astrologer frequently
consulted by Ronald and Nancy Reagan, perfect modern counterparts to
our Byzantine heroes. A world of inquiry familiar to modern sensibili-
ties coexisted in Constantinople’s classrooms with theories and practices
stereotypically associated with the pre-modern. The phenomenon, medi-
eval as it appears to the modern reader, is not peculiarly Byzantine in
character. The Warden and Master of the Royal Mint in the seventeenth
century, Sir Isaac Newton, was both founder of modern physics and an
alchemist still dabbling with pre-modern ideas.
If science and philosophy were popular disciplines in eleventh-century
Constantinople, literature and the classics were equally important in
shaping Attaleiates’ character. Yet, next to the serious and morally uplift-
ing texts of rhetors, tragic poets, and historians, Attaleiates would have
found works bound to excite his imagination in less than edifying fash-
ion. Achilleas Tatios with his unabashed celebration of the senses would
have spiced any adolescent’s dreams by writing that:
When she reaches the peak of erotic desire, a woman loses control in
pleasure; she kisses with mouth agape and flays as if mad. Now tongues
commune, one kissing the other in a rush. As for you, you heighten the
pleasure by opening your mouth. As she reaches Aphrodite’s summit, the
woman pants under the influence of scorching pleasure. Her breath now
rises quickly to the lips with love’s spirit. Here it encounters a stray kiss,
drifting and looking to descend beneath. Wheeling about the kiss joins the
love spirit and follows it, seeking to strike the heart.18
Leukippe and Kleitophon, likely written in cosmopolitan Alexandria dur-

ing the Roman era was a popular subject among Psellos’ students. Psellos
in fact lectured on the merits of this work in relation to Heliodoros’
Chariklea. Like the learned ninth-century patriarch Photios, Psellos
expresses some concerns about the sensual nature of the work, a nod to
conservative forces always on the look for moral deviation. Yet, his cri-
tique notwithstanding, Psellos taught the text, and men like Attaleiates
most likely found love in it before they sought it in seedy taverns and,
eventually, in the capital’s bridal scene. Cruder readings of the age-old
story of love and lust were also available in the Palatine Anthology, a text
popular among the capital’s readers.
Melisa (Bee) in your works you are like your flower-loving namesake.
This I know, and I keep this knowledge in my heart.
As you sweetly kiss me, honey drips from your lips,
Yet as you ask for payment, with your sting you incur a cruel wound.19
Such stimuli to youthful desires notwithstanding, Attaleiates, like most

contemporary intellectuals, tells us nothing of his love life prior
to his marriage. We know not if he was a shy young man or if like a
twelfth-century monk “with the aid of his fleshy crowbar” courted the
love and money of a widow.20 In any case if the compiler of the Palatine
Anthology was, after all, a priest and if the clergy was known to frequently
dip their pen in such scandal, we cannot expect a young man, studying
in this most exciting and free of times, to have remained above carnal
temptation. Whatever Attaleiates may have experienced in the world of
Constantinopolitan taverns and inns—a world, which Psellos himself
was happy to describe when sharing with his friends details of the bawdy
priest Elias’ misadventures—he put it all behind him when he decided
to marry at some point early in the 1050s. The provincial student from
Attaleia was now setting roots in the capital and slowly embarking upon
the task of establishing himself as a respectable up-and-comer. This,
however, brings us to the problem of his household and later-day eco-
nomic activities, and inevitably shifts the discussion to a later period and
a whole different set of questions, to be addressed in the next chapter.
In April 1079, nearly forty years after Attaleiates’ arrival in the capital,
the Emperor Nikephoros Botaneiates awarded him a decree confirming a
previous grant of immunity for lands that the judge had attached to his
monastery and poorhouse. In the introduction to this rather technical
document, the imperial scribes responsible for its compilation noted that
the magistros and judge Michael Attaleiates was distinguished among his
contemporaries for his learning. They explained that as a man of culture
he was to enjoy imperial benefactions.21 The emperor’s ghostwriters, some
88 D. KRALLIS
of them perhaps Attaleiates’ old schoolmates, linked culture and material

rewards, declaring the former as the highest achievement of any society.
As suggested by the preamble to the imperial decree, it was in the interest
of the emperor to appear before his subjects as a patron of culture and
the arts. Attaleiates’ parents long dead by then, would have been happy to
note that their initial investment in their son’s education had more than
paid off. By the late 1070s, Attaleiates was no longer just a well-regarded
judge, loyally serving successive administrations. He was also an erudite, a
cultural asset, pride of his master the emperor of the Romans.
Walking Down the Street

With words that would be met by understanding nods in many a faculty
lounge today, Michael Psellos complained about his students’ tendency
to be late in class and excuse themselves by blaming the weather and city
traffic.22 Attaleiates himself experienced such traffic for a significant part
of his long career at the courts. We have reasons to believe that his home
was located in the area of Psamatheia close to the monastery of St John
of Stoudios.23 His daily itinerary from the southwestern side of the city,
to the covered Hippodrome by the palace grounds would therefore take
him down the capital’s central avenue, the mese in a trajectory that faced
head-on the rising sun. As senator and member of Constantinople’s
courts, Attaleiates did not travel on foot. He likely took in the changing
scenery from his saddle.
In all likelihood, he set out on this daily journey from the south-
ern side of the mese, which was also the most densely populated part of
Psamatheia. To the north as he moved further away from the Marmara
Sea, he encountered but sparse habitation in a space not too different
from the gardens and farmland outside the city walls. On this side of
the city, between the Theodosian and Constantinian walls the inhabit-
ants of Constantinople kept gardens that produced a large part of the
legumes consumed locally. This was also the area of the capital’s great
cisterns, where rainwater was stored to supplement the flow of the city
aqueduct. Here, nestled in suburban groves, owls hooted all night to the
annoyance of local inhabitants. The poet Christophoros Mytilinaios, who
dwelled in another part of town, memorialized in a poem his frustra-
tion with the loquaciousness of Constantinople’s feathered night preda-
tors.24 The judge in effect lived in the medieval equivalent of a large city
suburb in Constantinople’s fourteenth region. Psamatheia had its own
markets and local businesses, which would have allowed its inhabitants
not to venture far from their homes for most of their needs. The pri-
vate wooden piers by the sea walls also opened the area to the outside
world obviating the need for tiresome treks to the city’s grand harbors.
There was even a noted local center of piety. The monastery of St. John
of Stoudios raised the area’s profile in Constantinople’s sacred map. The
small town nature of settlement made the neighborhood more of a face-
to-face society, where people likely interacted on first name basis. As a
real estate owner with his own monastery in the area, Attaleiates actively
participated in neighborhood life. He played patron and was involved in
people’s lives like any man of influence would (Fig. 5.2).
Moving East Attaleiates approached the remains of the Constantinian
walls, which marked the city’s fourth-century contours and, passing
through the original Golden Gate, soon entered the forum of Arkadios,
where he came upon the area grocers. The neighborhood was still subur-
ban and close enough to the garden areas on the north side of the mese.
Among the crates and carts filled with vegetables, he would see the tow-
ering column of Arkadios. The statue of that hapless emperor had crashed
to the ground in the eighth century, yet for those in the know the col-
umn remained an ironic reminder of the Roman Empire’s division and of
Fig. 5.2 Map of Constantinople

90 D. KRALLIS
imperial failure. The craftsmanship on it was nevertheless still celebrated

in the eleventh century, carved reliefs relating martial stories from a dis-
tant Roman past. A tenth-century poet described it as a stone sentinel
standing guard by the city ramparts.25 The same man also wrote of the
winding staircase housed within the column that led anyone fit enough
to climb it all the way to a platform with stunning views over the city. In
the last years of Attaleiates’ life, the daily encounter with this monument
would have evoked the very real contemporary military and political cri-
sis, which he was in the process of recording in his historical work.
Leaving the open fields behind him, Attaleiates now set his eyes
upon more densely built areas of urban settlement. Eleventh-century
Constantinople was not neatly segregated along class lines. Here poor
and rich lived next to each other. Aristocratic mansions stood next to
the city’s seedier streets, major monuments abutted low-income hous-
ing. Series of multistoried buildings with three, four, and even five floors
precariously stacked on top of one another blocked the eyes’ view with
their irregular shapes, sizes, and the different colors: white, yellow, or
even blue plastered on their walls.26 The sea of private living quarters
was studded with the larger abodes of the more affluent citizens and
with islands of public space; a church, a fountain, a statue or monument,
shops, and open areas of exchange.
To Attaleiates, this densely settled area represented a source of end-
less legal headaches. As a judge, he likely faced regular lawsuits regard-
ing zoning violations and building code infractions. Neighbors could be
your best friends, providing support in times of crisis, but also vicious
enemies once it came to property disputes. The quest for light in this
maze of narrow streets and tall structures was surely the cause of much
litigation. A lawsuit brewed every time a homeowner added an extra
floor to her building. High walls frequently blocked the view to the
Sea of Marmara and the breeze, both protected by law, while build-
ings more often than not came closer than twelve feet to neighboring
homes depriving them of precious hours of sun exposure. Less light
meant higher heating costs in Constantinople’s humid winter. Like mod-
ern-day Greeks and Turks, Constantinopolitans were imaginative ekistic
cheats, finding ingenious ways to squeeze an extra square foot of livable
space out of restrictive layouts.27 The problems arising from urban law-
suits were a constant reminder of Constantinople’s status as New Rome.
Legislation dealing with urban planning was, after all, a direct outcrop of
problems faced by the metropolises of the ancient world, among which
imperial Rome had been the greatest and most litigious.
In this denser urban landscape, the purer air of the fields gave way
to the more aggressive scents of sewers, spices from a myriad kitch-
ens, and the sea of infrequently washed humanity. The different smells
were coupled by a change in the faces around Attaleiates. The first beg-
gars appeared as thicker habitation brought with it greater opportunity
for revenue.28 With them came merchants with their shops lining the
mese. To be sure, the area was also home to criminals and crooks per-
haps known to the judge from prior appearances before the city courts.
Loiterers cased homes in hopes of a lucrative break-in and people were
loath to leave their apartments unattended for more than a day or two
for fear of burglaries.29
Yet another change, an almost imperceptible one, made the trip
more intriguing. The city’s geophysical layout was not something that
Attaleiates would have consciously registered on his daily routine. It
was nevertheless there, defining his experience. It is easy to ignore the
lay of the land when thinking of Constantinople with the aid of two-
dimensional maps. Even the modern visitor, who takes advantage of
the relatively cheap rates of taxis, may fail to adequately account for the
city’s hilly nature. The moment, however, we step on our feet and take a
walk around Istanbul we are struck, as undoubtedly the medieval trave-
ler was, by the undulating landscape. The city’s hills had a direct impact
on Attaleiates’ senses. From the xerolophos, where the forum of Arkadios
was located to the forum of the ox that came next, much changed. At a
distance to the east, Attaleiates would see the statue of the first Christian
emperor on its column. To the south, the sea glittered through the
openings of alleys that separated row upon row of houses. Due North
and East, immediately before him lay the valley of the Lykos. This river
was no longer visible, as Roman engineering encased its course soon
after the city’s foundation in order to protect the area from flash floods
and claim the lower parts of the valley for urban development. Its course
nevertheless represented an important geophysical marker and defined
one of the two larger valleys within the city walls. Where the river met
the sea one found the still bustling, if quite silted, fifth-century harbor of
Theodosios with its mixed commercial and military anchorage. Slightly
to its north, atop the river’s course was the forum of the ox.
From an administrative perspective the area belonged to the
jurisdiction of the Count of the Lamia, the person responsible for
supervising the state grain silos. Even if the yearly grain dole insti-
tuted in Rome at the time of Julius Caesar was no longer offered to
Constantinopolitans in the eleventh century, Attaleiates likely kept in
92 D. KRALLIS
touch with the Count’s office.30 As a judge he would have more than
once in his career presided over cases involving the state grain man-
agement system and the city’s private bakeries. He was, after all, him-
self an owner of a mule-powered mill and may even have processed
state grain in this facility. Due North-Northwest from the forum of
the ox, Attaleiates could perhaps see the silhouette of the aqueduct
of Valens that bridged two of the city’s tallest hills, the third and the
fourth (Fig. 5.3).
The fourth-century structure was renovated early in the eleventh
century better to support the city’s growing population. Extending
from Attaleiates’ vantage point at the forum of the ox a large city ave-
nue traversed the valley between those hills, passed under the aqueduct,
and then gently rolled toward the Golden Horn. He left this road to
his left and instead proceeded toward the Amastrianon Forum, past the
richly endowed Myrelaion monastery where the tenth-century Emperor
Romanos Lekapenos was buried. At this point, the southern section
Fig. 5.3 The aqueduct of Valens

of the mese linked with its northern branch, which left toward the gate
of Charisios and extended from there all the way to Adrianople. From
here on, roughly one kilometer separated Attaleiates from his office at
the covered Hippodrome. He hardly had time to think of this, however,
as he now faced pandemonium created by numerous steeds led to the
local market by the area’s horse breeders. People’s clothing and faces
changed once again, as richer Constantinopolitans, with pouches ample
enough to match a horse’s steep price, sought an aristocratic presence
atop the medieval equivalent of a luxury car. With prices starting at four
gold coins for a donkey and going all the way to upwards of fifty nom
ismata, ten times the yearly salary of a poor worker, the beasts at the
Amastrianon attracted a choice crowd.
Here the city was at its densest. The mese itself was now a huge shop-
ping district with all sorts of businesses lining the walls of the buildings
on either side. The flow of this long market street was interrupted by the
forum of Theodosius, a vast public plaza modeled on Rome’s forum of
Trajan (Fig. 5.4).
Fragments from the columns that supported the monumental arches
leading one into the forum can still be seen in Istanbul today. Like
branches stripped of smaller twigs, they resemble upstanding clubs and
symbolized the Pillars of Hercules, evoking Rome’s vast imperial reach and
Theodosius’ Spanish ancestry. Then came the forum of Constantine, with
its two elliptical stoas, the senate house, and the porphyry column with the
statue of the first Christian emperor on it. Locals called this repurposed
statue of Apollo the Anti-Sun, Anelios, as it was likely one of the first points
of the city landscape to face the sun rising in the east from behind ridges in
Asia Minor. Passing by the senate house Attaleiates could not but gaze at
the ancient relief composition on its bronze doors, described in the tenth
century by Konstantinos the Rhodian in the following words:
The giants [appear] with their feet turned inwards and coiled underneath
them like serpents … and the snakes, as if with flickering tongues, bellow
terribly. They are grim to look at, and their eyes flash fire, so that those
who gaze at them are in fright and trembling, and their hearts are filled
with horror and fear.
It would be interesting to ponder Attaleiates’ reaction to such intricate

and explicitly pagan art. In the History, he openly expressed admiration
for ancient Roman piety and virtue. Did this monument engender yet
94 D. KRALLIS
Fig. 5.4 The Pillars of Hercules: Columns from the triumphal arc at the
Theodosian forum
another moment of reflection on Byzantine failings and pagan Roman

success or did he respond in a rather more Orthodox manner noting
with Konstantinos the Rhodian that:
With such errors was the stupid race of [pagan] Greece deceived, and gave
an evil veneration to the indecency of vain impieties. But the great and
wise Constantine brought [these sculptures] here to be a sport for the city,
to be a plaything for children, and a source of laughter for men.31
One day, on his commute to work, Attaleiates no doubt stumbled upon

the large crowd of curious men, women, and children. They were look-
ing astonished at debris brought down from under the feet of the sainted
emperor’s effigy, which now stood somewhat precariously atop the por-
phyry column in the middle of the forum. The metal joints securing the
bronze statue on the capital crowning the column had been struck by
lightning that somehow spared the statue itself. Some linked the event
to the empire’s declining fortunes, while others opened conversations

on the causes of lightning itself. Attaleiates could not help but record
elements of this debate, which pitted the astrologizing, science-leaning
mathematikoi against what in his mind was the ignorant populace:
The mathematikoi suggest from the science of nature that the fire is of a
river-like nature, generated by the crash and breakdown of clouds. It is
extremely fine and dashing against resisting objects with unspeakable impe-
tus the thunder brings about a violent and sudden burst. And they say that
the lightning fire is so naturally fine that it cannot harm thin objects or any
porous body with small pores, such as the veils from among the fabrics.
Thus if it happens that lightning falls upon a girdle made of linen or cot-
ton, or upon a cloak woven out of any other material layered with gold, it
changes the nature of the gold and turns it into a metal blob as if in a fiery
furnace, while leaving the body of the fabric unharmed. The same is true
with humans, for lightning enters the body through barely visible pores
and spreads about the interior organs because of their greater materiality
and the fact that they have no pores, while the exterior of the body is not
burned and is found hollow, left without the entrails. As for common peo-
ple, they counter that a really large dragon-like serpent is the cause of all
this, as it is grabbed by some invisible force and with claws and the force
of its innate harshness it crushes with its maneuvers whatever comes in its
way, wherever it happens that with its spasms and resistance it fought and
struggled against what held him.32 (Fig. 5.5)
In this same area, next to the senate house the judge encountered the
famous statue of Athena, whose destruction by the Crusaders was to
shock the statesman and historian Niketas Choniates, writing some
130 years after Attaleiates.33 Further down the road was the praetorion,
the seat of the eparch, the city’s mayor and one of the Constantinople’s
main legal figures. Here Attaleiates encountered colleagues, paralegal
workers, and court secretaries. These people constituted his social circle
and became the pool out of which later in life he recruited monks for
his own monastery. By now, he was indeed caught up in traffic. Men on
horseback, carts, and scores of people thronging around the shops made
for slow progress. Yet he was finally close to the Hippodrome, the palace
grounds, his place of work.
Adjacent to the palace, the Hippodrome was along with the forum of
Constantine and Hagia Sophia the center of Constantinople’s civic life.
Hardly Christian in character, the Hippodrome was the stage for polit-
ical interaction between the emperor and his subjects. Legal documents
96 D. KRALLIS
Fig. 5.5 The porphyry column of Constantine

from Attaleiates’ lifetime confirm that both men and women visited
the Hippodrome. A date at the races between a married woman and a
man other than her husband could be cause for divorce.34 Numerous
such cases were likely kept in file in the vast cavernous space under the
Hippodrome’s bleachers, which since before the sixth century had been
used as storage for the empire’s legal archives.35 Case upon case adju-
dicated by the city courts found its place in those archives. We have no
way of knowing how well, the ancient fifth- and sixth-century docu-
ments survived by Attaleiates’ time, yet a walk through the stacks of legal
briefs was no doubt a journey into a time when the empire still spoke
the language of Roman jurisprudence. It is unclear how many, if any, of
Attaleiates’ colleagues read Latin. Roman law was indeed the law of the
land, only by the eleventh century it was dressed in Greek garb. Either
way, Attaleiates’ assizes by the imperial palace grounds, not too far from
this archive, allowed for relatively easy access to and consultation of myr-
iad pages of legal precedent and old case work.
At the end of a long day at court, with interest rates, loan contracts,
lawsuits over dowries, and calls for demarcation of estates still buzzing
in his head, Attaleiates retraced his steps on his way home. His com-
mute, from home to workplace and back, was repeated day in, day out
for some thirty years. This trajectory marked more than a trip through
Constantinople’s landscape. From Psamatheia and the vicinity of the
Golden Gate to the Hippodrome, Attaleiates traced on a daily basis the
footsteps of emperors who for centuries had staged triumphal proces-
sions in celebration of their victories over the empire’s barbarian foes.
For the judge, this was a daily celebration of his own triumphal arrival at
the Constantinopolitan social scene. In fact, in January 1069 he may for
once have marched down the mese along the emperor and his troops in
celebration of Romanos’ triumphal return from the Syrian campaign that
culminated with the conquest of Hierapolis. At the end of each day, he
retraced his steps when he left the center of town on his way back home,
the city slowly settling down to its night rhythms.
Notes
1. Walter Ashburner (ed. and trans.), The Rodian Sea-Law (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1903), p. 3 [II.15].
2. Ashburner, The Rhodian Sea-Law, p. 3. [II.14], p. 20 [III.13], and p. 22
[III.17].
98 D. KRALLIS
3. Claudio de Stefani (ed.), Silentiarius, Paulus: Descriptio Sanctae Sophiae,

Descriptio Ambonis (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011), pp. 62–63.
4. Ioannes Mauropous, Poems, pp. 272–74, poem 127 for Fishing; Cramer,
Anecdota Graeca, pp. 275–76 for Byzantine yachting, with revelers recit-
ing poetry in the open sea off the capital; Attaleiates, History, p. 507,
Bekker 279 on private wooden piers jutting off the walls of the city.
6. Ioannes Mauropous, Poems, pp. 424–25, poem 53 on pamphlets.
7. Psellos, Chronographia III.18–24 (Renaud, pp. 44–52).
8. Ioannes Mauropous, Poems, pp. 436–37, poem 55.
9. Z. R. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal Tradition,
867–1056 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017), pp. 162–83
on legal education in Byzantium from the sixth to the evelenth-century.
10. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 163–64.
11. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 337; Konstantinos Sathas (ed.), Mesaionike
Bibliotheke IV (Paris, 1874), p. 427; Translation in Anthony Kaldellis and
Ioannis Polemis, Psellos and the Patriarchs: Letters and Funeral Orations
for Keroularios, Leichoudes and Xiphilinos (South Bend, IN: Notre Dame
University Press, 2015), p. 185.
13. Psellos, Chronographia VI.37 (Renaud, p. 135) on Reviving Philosophy;
Attaleiates, History, pp. 35–37, Bekker 21 on Psellos’ as wisest of men.
15. Paul Magdalino, “From ‘Encyclopaedism’ to ‘Humanism’: the Turning
Point of Basil II and the Millennium,” in Byzantium in the Eleventh
Century: Being in Between, ed. Marc D. Lauxtermann and Mark Whittow
(2017), p. 4.
16. Paul Magdalino, “The Byzantine Reception of Classical Astrology,” in
Literacy, Education and Manuscript Transmission in Byzantium and
Beyond, ed., Catherine Holmes and Judith Waring (Leiden: Brill, 2002),
pp. 46–49, 53–54.
17. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis, vol. 1, p. 467.
18. Achilles Tatius, Leukippe and Kleitophon, 2.37. Loose translation mine.
19. Marcus Argentarius from the Palatine Anthology in William R. Paton
trans., The Greek Anthology 1 (London: William Heinemann, 1916),
p. 144 for the Greek.
20. Paul Magdalino, “Cultural Change? The Context of Poetry from
Geometres to Prodromos,” in Poetry and Its Contexts in Eleventh
Century Byzantium, ed. Floris Bernard and Kristoffel Demoen (Ashgate:
Farnham, 2012), p. 27 on Tzetzes, Historiae 91–92.
22. Anthony R. Littlewood (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Oratoria Minora (Leipzig:

Teubner, 1985), pp. 76–82 orations 21 and 22 on students’ late arrival in
class.
23. Krallis, Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline, p. 235 on
localization.
25. Constantine the Rodian in Liz James (ed.), Constantine of Rhodes, On
Constantinople and the Church of the Holy Apostles (Ashgate: Farnham,
2012), p. 35, lines 216–19 for the spiral staircase, p. 37, lines 253–55 on
the guardian of the walls.
26. Nicetas Choniates’ History on Houses and Colours in Jan L. van Dieten
(ed.), Nicetae Choniatae Historia (Berlin and New York, 1975), p. 634.
27. Armenopoulos, Hexabiblos 2.4.28 on four and five story buildings;
Justinian, Code, 8.10.9 on distance between public and private build-
ings, 8.10.11 on balconies, 8.10.12.2–2a on respect of neighbor’s light
and view; Justinian, Novels 63, 165 on the protection of the view to the
sea; Justinian, Digest, Book 8.2.2–4, 8.2.10–11 on obsruction of light;
Koukoules, volume 4 page 289 on layouts and dense construction.
28. Attaleiates, History, pp. 502–3, Bekker 275–76 on beggars.
29. Virgil S. Crisafulli and John W. Nesbitt (ed. and trans.), The Miracles of
St. Artemios: A Collection of Miracle Stories by an Anonymous Author of
Seventh-Century Byzantium. Supplemented by a Reprinted Greek Text and
an Essay by John F. Haldon (Leiden: Brill, 1996), p. 115.
30. Alexander P. Kazhdan, “Komes tes Lamias,” Oxford Dictionary of
Byzantium 2, p. 1139; Paul Magdalino, “The Maritime Neighborhoods
of Constantinople: Commercial and Residential Functions, Sixth to
Twelfth Centuries,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 54 (2001), p. 213 on the
Lamia horea located close to the port of Theodosios; “The Grain Supply
of Constantinople, Ninth-Twelfth Centuries,” in Constantinople and Its
Hinterland, ed. Gilbert Dagron and Cyril Mango (Aldershot: Ashgate
Publishing Ltd., 1995), p. 37 on the komes tes lamias.
31. Henry Maguire, “The Profane Aesthetic in Byzantine Art and Literature,”
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 53 (1999), pp. 194–95 for the translation.
33. Niketas Choniates’ History in Jan. L. van Dieten (ed.), Nicetae Choniatae
Historia (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1975), pp. 558–59.
34. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, p. 94; Peira 25.23.
35. Ioannes Lydos, De Magistratibus 3.19 in Anastasius C. Bandy ed., Ioannes
Lydus. On Powers or the Magistracies of the Roman State (Philadelphia:
American Philosophical Society, 1983), p. 162, lines 2–5.
CHAPTER 6
Attaleiates’ Household
When the young Michael first arrived in Constantinople, he was likely

on some sort of family dole. In that respect, his years as a student in
the capital mirrored those of young men and women today who tap into
painstakingly built college funds on their way to a university education
that will, with some luck, make them financially independent. Attaleiates
may have benefited from the assistance of expatriate Pamphylians in the
capital, it is certain, however, that he mainly relied on his family’s sup-
port for at least some time. Such support would not have been an insig-
nificant burden on his parents’ household. The young man’s yearly bread
would cost some four gold coins, while a steady diet of Bosporus catch
would put him back an extra nomisma.1 Food, however, would be but
part of his family’s expenses. For twenty to thirty gold coins, Michael
could own a servant who would prepare his meals, clean his quarters,
and perform all the chores that his now distant mother and family staff
could no longer undertake. Romanía was after all a slave-owning pol-
ity. Attaleiates’ mother, described by the author himself as very ortho-
dox and pious, must also have fortified him with a Psalter or a book of
Scripture. A moderately priced copy of such edifying works would sell
for about one gold coin. Of more practical concern, a cloak, truly nec-
essary in Constantinople’s rainy climate, would add another nomisma
to Michael’s costs. Similar sums would need to be disbursed for a nice
belt and anywhere between three and six gold coins would buy formal,
though by no means silk, attire for ceremonial occasions. Clothing there-
fore must have figured prominently in Attaleiates’ parents budget, as

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_6
102 D. KRALLIS
education would offer their son no advantages were he not able to prop-
erly display his newly acquired knowledge and rhetorical skills in a formal
setting. Appearances mattered as the poetry of the time attests:
You have no bronze, and neither staff nor shoes,

And, what is more, you do not have two robes.
Without wishing it, Leo, you lead an apostolic life.2
Rent, which represents today a significant outlay for parents paying for
their child’s away-from-home education, did not have to be crippling for
Attaleiates’ family.3 Homes could be rented in the capital for as low as a
gold coin a year though nothing tells us whether these were lodgings in
livable, safe quarters or dirty holes in a maze of dark, muddy back alleys.4
It is thus likely that Attaleiates’ parents spent quite a bit more to ensure
that their son’s abode matched his social aspirations. These then are but a
few items from a longer list of costs that Attaleiates’ parents surely incurred
in their effort to offer him a safe path to a lucrative state career. Tallied-up,
all this amounted to a one-time investment of up to a pound of gold for
the setup of Michael’s household in the capital, followed by annual living
expenses amounting to tens of gold coins. The scale of the expense itself
can therefore help one speculate about the rough size and income of the
household in which Attaleiates grew up. It also set the parameters for what
he hoped to achieve by the end of his studies as he sought employment.
Having established his student’s household, Michael was now free
to roam the capital’s classrooms exposing himself to the sights, sounds,
people, and ideas of this vibrant city. Teachers and new acquaint-
ances from the world of the lecture halls would also have introduced
Attaleiates to a wide array of men and women from the capital’s pro-
fessional classes. It is perhaps from this moment on that he also started
looking for a life partner in earnest. Sadly Attaleiates’ personal life, the
intimacy of youthful romance, the hopes and heartache of family affairs
are a casualty of time. We will never know if a classmate’s sister attracted
his gaze or if it was the daughter of a city merchant who first spurred in
him the desire for a woman’s company and the thought of marriage. The
little we know about his personal life is drawn from his monastic charter
and is therefore unsentimental, technical, and linked to dry clauses for
the commemoration of his deceased wives. The details of his married life
are otherwise unknown. As in the case of Psellos, who offers a richer tab-
leau of family affairs, the portrait of the wife is absent. We thus cannot
6 ATTALEIATES’ HOUSEHOLD 103
say if Attaleiates was at all influenced in his choice of life partner by the
epigrammatist of the Palatine Anthology, who noted:
I want her neither too young to wed, not too old,

for the young one I pity while the old one I respect
Neither unripe grape, nor shriveled raisin, for my heart desires
mature beauty companion to my love.5
Looks and youth mattered and were evidently celebrated in Attaleiates’

time much as they are today. In a powerful display of rhetorical prow-
ess, Psellos described every aspect of a young virgin’s body, moving from
breasts to waist, flanks, thighs, legs, and finally ankles. In the process,
he compared her body to the statue of Aphrodite of Knidos pointing
out that according to myth “a certain man fell in love and embraced it
sexually, so taken was he by the beauty of the statue.”6 To be sure the
reader is introduced to this passage by equally compelling descriptions of
the girl’s eyes, lips, and hair, yet the allusion to the awakening of erotic
desire in the beholder of the celebrated ancient statue nudges one down
the path of sensuality and sexual yearning. This is not the place to dis-
cuss the reasons behind Psellos’ decision to sexualize the portrait of his
recently departed underage daughter. We are rather interested in the
mere fact that such descriptions were ever put to paper and that there
was in fact an audience for them. Were looks and sensual pleasure then
what Attaleiates and his contemporaries sought in their bride? Or did
they perhaps want her to live “a quiet and untroubled life” in pious isola-
tion, knowing little
about everyone, not about the happening in the marketplace, not in the
palace… For she blocked out of her ears all superfluous speech and knew
neither crowded marketplace, nor whether any part of the city populace
was in tumult… But if someone professed virtue, regardless of whether
they were men or women, these she would indiscriminately gather and
assemble around herself from afar.7
In the twelfth-century romance The Story of Hysmine and Hysminias the

first encounter of the young man and woman whose love becomes the
subject of the work has the beautiful virgin boldly hand Hysminias a cup
of wine and then resist his pull once his hands find themselves holding
it. Thus she forces a dialogue with the man who will become her lover
104 D. KRALLIS
by displaying a boldness that infuriates her mother.8 Literary flights of

fancy notwithstanding, it is rather likely that Attaleiates marriage to his
first wife Sophia resulted from a series of rather more pragmatic calcu-
lations. Both the young lawyer and the bride’s parents surely carefully
weighed the pros and cons of such a union, while beauty, romance, and
tense encounters likely took second place behind economic and social
considerations. In this rather less romantic story line Sophia emerges as
a figure of middling origins, descended from a less than notable family.
She was likely a social peer of Attaleiates, who ambitions notwithstand-
ing, was barely setting out on his promising professional journey.
To Sophia’s parents it would have been evident that as a young lawyer
Attaleiates could aspire to a successful career at the courts and eventu-
ally to accession in the senate. They furthermore surely understood that
early on he could not be expected to bring much to the household he
constituted with his young bride. Here their contribution truly mattered.
Sophia was by no means a rich lady but did nevertheless have some prop-
erty to her name that made her an attractive proposition for Michael. She
therefore contributed real estate, while he brought to the union pros-
pects of rank, court career, and salary. It is a sad biographer he who must
jump from bridal contract to funeral stipulations and wills, yet this is the
best one can do in the case of Attaleiates’ first wife. After several years of
married life, Sophia died leaving her husband a small house. The rest of
her holdings he liquidated in order to fulfill her wish, which called for
the proceeds from the sale of her assets to be granted to the poor.
Here then we encounter a central principle of Roman law still very
much alive in Romanía: A woman’s dowry remained hers even in mar-
riage. The husband could administer and invest it but in the end it was
hers alone to dispose as she wished for as long as she did not have chil-
dren to pass it on to. Since an heir had not been added to Attaleiates
and Sophia’s household, the latter was free to draft a will in which her
fortune was disposed according to her wishes. While Sophia’s bequest
was therefore by no means bountiful, an estate remained in Attaleiates’
possession along with her house as a tangible fruit of their union. This
was land he had purchased from his mother-in-law, while Sophia was still
with him.9 This in-family transaction suggests that relatively early in his
career the judge had raised the cash required for such an investment.
The Diataxis lists this land next to four other estates that Attaleiates pur-
chased over the course of his career. It figures here as memory from ear-
lier long-gone days.
As we saw, the union to Sophia did not last long and brought
Attaleiates no heirs. Words written by Michael Psellos on behalf of
a grieving husband for his deceased wife’s tombstone suggest that the
Romans of the Middle Ages were not always stoic when it came to the
loss of their loved ones:
O, how you burn me in furnaces of pain

O, how you drench me in streams of tears
In every season, day and night
When in my mind and thought I bring
Your virtues and myriad graces
I am spurred immediately to tears.10
There are, alas, no traces of Attaleiates’ own mourning and no evidence

of his love for Sophia, if love indeed had bound them together. Like
Psellos, he chose not to make the relationship with his wife and his per-
sonal loss a matter of public disclosure. Any feelings he harbored for her
remained in the confines of the household and only emerge from the
Diataxis as sums of money dedicated to the commemoration of her life
in a number of churches around Raidestos and Constantinople.
After Sophia’s death, Attaleiates remained a widower for a number
of years in the middle of the century. His son Theodore was born to
Eirene, his second wife, in the mid- to the late 1050s. True to form,
Attaleiates offers little to allow the modern reader a more intimate peek
into his life as a father. If Psellos’ writings can, however, be taken as
signposts for an exploration of Byzantine fatherhood we would expect
Attaleiates to
not stay away from the … children, neither when they were being bathed
nor when they were being swathed, [for] this was the most pleasing specta-
cle, the infant gently lying on the left arm of the wet nurse and held by the
other arm, now with the face down, now supine.11
Alas, Theodore survives as but a series of dry entries in the Diataxis. We

learn from those, however, that at the time when the monastic charter
was compiled in the middle of the century’s eighth decade Theodore
bore the title of mystographos and served as imperial notary. This scant
bit of evidence suggests that Attaleiates’ service as judge and senator
under successive emperors secured for his son a respectable position in
106 D. KRALLIS
the senate, the state administration, and in the court hierarchy. His hard
work placed Theodore at a better starting point both socially and profes-
sionally than the one he had himself enjoyed as a newly arrived provin-
cial youth in the Queen of Cities. Late in his life, Attaleiates still viewed
himself as a xenos (an outsider) who had to struggle to break into the
capital’s social scene. To his great relief the same would not be true of
his son.
To gain insight into the social milieu of Theodore’s mother, Eirene,
we should note that her relatives, the protospatharisai Euphrosyne and
Anastaso, bore the same title that was awarded in the eleventh century
to young judges at the beginning of their career. While Euphrosyne and
Anastaso could never have joined the ranks of the empire’s male-dom-
inated officialdom and public sphere, the honorifics before their names
suggest that someone, likely their husbands, had either purchased the
titles in question or probably received them upon promotion to office in
the bureaucracy. Attaleiates’ sister-in-law and one of Eirene’s aunts were
therefore associated, like him, with circles of the lower court aristocracy,
Romanía’s up and coming noblesse de robe. It appears then that in court-
ing Eirene Michael sought his partner well within his own social milieu
of middling government officials.
Titulature aside, details in the Diataxis regarding Eirene’s estate
suggest that her union to Michael was a contract that imposed long-
lasting binding social and economic obligations on the participants.
Family was surely about care, protection, and ultimately reproduction
but this marital arrangement also produced expectations for the duti-
ful disbursement of promised monetary outlays. We therefore read in
the Diataxis that Attaleiates dedicated to his charitable foundation at
Raidestos a house within the walls of that city, that once belonged to his
second wife’s aunt, the protospatharisa Euphrosyne.12 When Euphrosyne
retired in a convent, Attaleiates helped her transition to the life angelic
by committing to buy the home she was leaving behind her for the four
walls of a monastic cell. Taking advantage of the trust engendered by
familial bonds he arranged to pay for the property at a moment in the
future when the funds necessary for such a transaction would become
available to him.
The house itself was uninhabitable. Time and the destructive effects
of the catastrophic earthquake of 1063 had left visible scars on it, and
it appears that Attaleiates was compelled to buy damaged goods, given
his written, legally binding commitment to do so. The judge cannot,
nevertheless, be spared the suspicion of acting out of self-interest.

Sometime after her renunciation of the world Euphrosyne bequeathed
her estate of Lips or Baboulou to either Attaleiates or his wife. Evidently,
by committing to purchase Euphrosyne’s quasi-dilapidated asset and
helping her join a convent Attaleiates had also bought her goodwill and
the attendant bequest.
The damaged property in Raidestos was restored from its foundations
up at great expense. Attaleiates mournfully explains that he invested in it
a significant part of what personal savings he had accumulated early in his
courtly career.13 This account of the judge’s fiscal travails in the Diataxis
is, however, somewhat disingenuous. By the early 1060s, Attaleiates
was no longer a new man in Constantinople. He was in fact mid-career.
True, his entry in the inner circles of courtly society would have to wait
until the later part of the century’s eighth decade, yet, by 1063, he
had already likely given some fifteen or so years of service to the bar.
Over that period, he evidently built up savings with which he was able
to invest in real estate when opportunity arose. Moreover, from early on
his household was becoming multi-focal as significant revenues flowed in
from land his family now possessed in Raidestos. The supervision of the
estates and houses in this city brought him to Thrace rather frequently
and he gradually developed a network of friends and tenants in the area.
The list of Attaleiates’ rental properties as recorded in the Diataxis
also indicates a broadening of his social milieu. The man who arrived in
Constantinople with little more than the desire to obtain an education
was by the 1060s at the center of an increasingly complex nexus of eco-
nomic activities and interests. Participation in the economy had then,
and still has today, clear social implications, which we often tend to dis-
regard in the mundane rush to buy our daily bread, pay rent, and get on
with our lives. Economic transactions bring people together and force
all manner of interaction upon them. This was surely true of Attaleiates
who owned a bakery bringing in twenty-four nomismata per year, a per-
fumery rented out for fourteen nomismata, as well as property rented
by a doctor named Theodoros, who paid five nomismata per year. The
house of the protospatharios Thomas of Nikaia also owned by the judge
provided annual revenue of 36 nomismata, a not inconsiderable sum.14
Attaleiates surely visited the perfumer to purchase ointments and creams
for his wife, while by having a doctor as tenant he gained easy access to
an expert whose skill could be of use in time of need.
108 D. KRALLIS
The bakery, on the other hand, put him in the sights of the author-
ities of Constantinople. City ordinances as recorded in the Book of the
Eparch deputed agents from among the Eparch’s staff to inspect ovens
and maintain reasonable standards of fire safety in a city accustomed
to devastating conflagrations.15 This bakery was in fact located near
Attaleiates’ monastic complex in Constantinople, which in turn housed a
mule-powered mill.16 Attaleiates evidently harvested grain from property
he possessed in the vicinity of Raidestos and Selymbria, transported it to
the capital, and then turned it into flour for the market on the grounds
of a monastic mill. This venture was shielded to a degree by personal-
ized imperial grants accumulated over years of presence in palace circles.
Imperial protection notwithstanding, Attaleiates’ shops, rental prop-
erties, and farming enterprises were, like most businesses, nevertheless
exposed to both market forces and the exactions of state officials. They
were also nodes of intense social interaction among people of diverse
socioeconomic status and educational background.
More than a source of considerable agricultural revenues, Raidestos
was where the bulk of Attaleiates’ philanthropic activities were to be
concentrated. His monastery in Constantinople was in fact treated as
an add-on to the poorhouse at Raidestos, perhaps marking the Thracian
city as Attaleiates’ true adoptive hometown. By all accounts Raidestos,
much smaller and manageable than Constantinople, represented for
Attaleiates a home away from home; a city where he could more easily
establish meaningful social relations that mirrored his family’s position
in Attaleia. Here he also actively built a true patronage network, whose
footprint is reflected in his strategic donation of small sums to select local
monasteries.
Four religious establishments otherwise unknown to us, St Nikolaos
of Phalkon and St Georgios, located outside the town’s western gate, the
convent of St Prokopios close by, and the monastery of the Very Holy
Mother of Daphne received the judge’s annual donations. Clerics in each
one of those institutions performed a daily trisagion on his behalf, while
his name was inscribed in the church diptychs. Another three churches
also benefited from his calculated generosity. St Ioannes Prodromos
at the west gate, the Holy Mother of God Eleousa, and the Church of
the Archangel all enjoyed similar grants of one gold coin each from
Attaleiates’ son and heir, Theodoros the mystographos. The two saints
and the Virgin Mary were all celebrated in feasts for which the Attaleiatai
had allocated funds.17 Thus with modest, yet regular grants, the judge
and his family became fixtures of Raidestos’ sacred geography.
As true Roman, Attaleiates understood the significance of civic-
mindedness. He therefore fortified his reputation among fellow citizens
through carefully calculated public displays of piety. This process, which
furnished Attaleiates with a valuable network of clients in Raidestos,
run parallel to his investments in the local economy. The value of such
civic and economic engagement is indirectly attested in his account
of the 1077 rebellion of the generalissimo Nikephoros Bryennios.
The History tells us here that in Raidestos news of the rebellion in
the empire’s European provinces were coupled by concrete action on the
part of one of the city’s notables in support of Bryennios. The ringleader
on this occasion was not one of the usual suspects in Romanía’s poli-
tics. Batatzina, the wife of a prominent military man, now takes center
stage and brings Raidestos to Bryennios’ side through her initiative and
actions. Attaleiates, who was present in the city at the time, notes that,
at a moment when Raidestos’ population appeared to vacillate between
Emperor Michael Doukas and the rebel Nikephoros Bryennios, he
received advance information of the people’s actual intention to follow
Batatzina and join the rebellion. His informant was someone to whom
Attaleiates had formerly been benefactor.18 The History therefore reveals
a city in upheaval, with secret meetings taking place in the homes of
prominent local men and, as the case may be, women. It also shows
Attaleiates attending those same meetings and trying to preserve the
people’s loyalty to the emperor. By the time it became clear that this was
impossible, his efforts having marked him as a loyalist, he found himself
on the wrong side of the political divide. Informed at home by a friendly
local about the brewing conspiracy, Attaleiates was able to organize his
flight from the city. Such information and support was what his pious
donations were in part supposed to garner.
Further examination of Attaleiates’ activities in Raidestos reveals a
long-term, systematic plan to acquire and develop property in the city.
A case in point was the purchase of a number of estates outside the city
walls. This was farmland, which had remained fallow for a number of
years and had consequently been appropriated by the state. The treasury,
seeking to exploit the full potential of the empire’s agricultural capital
and wishing to reinscribe unproductive land to the tax registers, offered
such land, known to us as Klasma, to interested investors. The new own-
ers enjoyed tax-exempt status for a number of years until they restored
110 D. KRALLIS
the plots in question to full productivity. Attaleiates’ new holdings were

located outside Raidestos’ western gate, where as we have already seen a
significant part of his economic and social activity was also concentrated.
Of the properties linked to Attaleiates, the monasteries of St Georgios
and Prokopios also located in this part of town were both held in charis
tike either by him or his son. Charistike was another state policy, which
Attaleiates smartly manipulated in his effort to shore up his personal con-
trol over aspects of Raidestos’ sacred landscape. The state used charistike
as an effective, if highly controversial tool for the regulation and upkeep
of monastic life. Monasteries in financial dire straits were handed over
through a grant of Charistike to private custodians who assumed the
responsibility for the maintenance of their sacred functions. There was
of course a flip side to this at first glance pious arrangement. The private
custodian was also granted the right to exploit and develop previously
underutilized monastic land and real estate. He could in fact pocket all
revenues exceeding what was absolutely necessary for the support of the
monastery’s religious functions.
In this manner, the authorities exploited the management expertise
of Romanía’s upper classes and harnessed their resources to the main-
tenance of derelict religious institutions. As it had frequently been men
of wealth who had in the past founded the monasteries in question, the
“privatization” of monastic assets implicit in a charistike grant was in
essence a return of formerly private land to private hands. At the same
time, the emperor and the grantee could claim a role in the regeneration
of contemplative life in the empire. Furthermore, the emperor deflected
accusations that he was complicit in the despoiling of God’s properties
for the worldly benefit of the Roman elites by insisting on the non-
heritable and thus temporary nature of a grant of charistike. Here, how-
ever, there was a catch. St Georgios and Prokopios were held in a joint
charistikion by Attaleiates and his son who thus guaranteed the transfer
from one generation to the next of what was by law a non-transferable
grant. The careful lawyer proves here an adept manipulator of the law
and a shrewd investor.
Attaleiates’ other investments reinforce the emerging portrait of an
active, risk-taking entrepreneur. The Diataxis thus shows him purchasing
state or other property that was cheaply available and effecting changes
in its uses. Some of the plots he acquired outside the walls of Raidestos
did not therefore retain their agricultural character for long. He
constructed buildings on what was previously farmland, and eventually
received rents from such investments. As the expansion of the Byzantine

and Western European economies in the eleventh century ushered an
era of vibrant urban activity, Attaleiates and other members of his class
sought to capitalize on the building boom of the times much like North
American real estate speculators of the early twenty-first century.
The judge’s commitment to Raidestos, its economy, and its people
are finally highlighted in an interesting event he chose to recount in the
History. After the battle of Mantzikert in 1071, Romanía faced an acute
fiscal crisis when its eastern frontier collapsed in the midst of civil war
and intensified Seljuq raiding. Chronic conditions of chaos in much of
Asia Minor undermined Roman authority on the ground and shrunk the
empire’s tax base just as the army’s needs most weighed on the budget.
The record of coin finds from the eleventh century reflects this rapidly
unfolding fiscal Armageddon. Faced with a dramatic shortage in bullion
Michael VII and his advisors responded by diluting the purity of the gold
currency in an effort to maintain the circulation of coins in the economy.
The market, however, was always alert to even the slightest tampering
with the fineness of coins and immediately picked this up. Sensing that
there was something wrong with the newly minted nomismata, farmers
adjusted by expanding already existing practices of barter exchange and
sought to make up losses in income by raising the prices of all goods
sold on longer distance trade with the capital. By passing the cost of the
devaluation on to the urban consumer they forced the populace of the
capital into the streets where angry crowds demanded that the emperor
do something.
As treasury mandarins came to terms with the limits of popular tol-
erance for the inflationary cycle they themselves put into motion by
minting ever-larger quantities of debased nomismata they sought a solu-
tion independent of the money supply. They thus imposed a monopoly
on essential commodities like grain.19 A silo was in time erected in the
vicinity of Raidestos and likely in many other towns in grain producing
areas. Once this was in place farmers were compelled to sell their goods
through this state clearinghouse. In this manner, the government could
achieve either one of two things. They would either impose price caps
that would serve the need for cheap grain in the capital or levy extra
duties with which to pay Romanía’s armies. To the dismay of authorities
in the capital, this high-handed intervention in local affairs stirred dis-
affection and, worse, hoarding. As grain became scarce, the law, which
explicitly prohibited hoarding, proved ineffective and more forceful
112 D. KRALLIS
measures were imposed.20 Nevertheless, despite the deployment of the

full force of the state’s coercive apparatus, a hike in prices ensued, which
mainly affected Constantinople, the intended beneficiary of the measure.
Attaleiates had more than a few words to say on the issue. In the
History he attributed the price-hike to the corruption of bureaucrats and
their tampering with the free operation of the market.21 His account,
however, disingenuously eschews any discussion of the central role of
local producers like himself in the generation of the shortages. In antic-
ipation of better days and in pursuit of higher prices, his fellow citizens
were hoarding grain, the only “currency” they could put their trust into
at the time. As the clash between the state’s agents and the economic
interests of the citizens of Raidestos unfolded, Attaleiates placed him-
self firmly on the side of the latter. This tale of economic woes certainly
showcases Attaleiates’ trust in market forces but is also testament to his
dedication to neighbors and friends at Raidestos. After years of inter-
action with the people and the economy of the city, the judge consid-
ered himself one of them. As a loyal courtier with direct access to the
prime minister, he enjoyed imperial favor and cushy tax-exemptions.22
Such privileges did not, however, extend to landowners and farmers who
bore the brunt of the government’s exactions. Thus the pain inflicted
by the silo’s operation on the economic and social life of his adoptive
hometown justified in his mind the betrayal of Michael Doukas’ regime
by the people of Raidestos.23 Even after some of them sacked his prop-
erty in the city, Attaleiates cast them a sympathetic eye and excused their
behavior.
Attaleiates’ agricultural and other operations in Raidestos as well as
his engagement in the Constantinopolitan rental and real estate market
indicate a readiness to do business with a truly diverse set of economic
actors. The full scale of his business deals is evident in the production
cycle that he maintained from farm to table. Like a modern entrepre-
neur he used his connections in the Constantinopolitan administration
to get a hold on cheap land, lobbied for tax-exemptions, involved him-
self in the production of grain on those lands and then had the grain
transported to Constantinople only to have it unloaded on privately
owned piers, located close to his Constantinopolitan holdings. The
grain was finally turned into flour in his own mills only to be sold by a
baker who operated out of Attaleiates’ own properties. This enterprise
was complex, involving interaction with bureaucrats on every level of the
administration, free peasant cultivators, tenant farmers, local Raidestos
port-authorities, shipping interests, cart owners, millers, bakers, city

inspectors, and consumers in two or more cities. Attaleiates sums up his
entrepreneurial spirit in a little note he left in the Diataxis for his son:
“if he is eager for more [money], let him do good work and strive hard
to acquire additional property in good faith, having his own father as an
example.”24
This judge’s economic activity in the capital was clustered around
a physical space, otherwise unknown to us, situated in the Psamatheia
neighborhood. The Diataxis lists a number of buildings that con-
stituted an oikos, which Attaleiates turned in the mid-1070s into the
Panoiktirmon monastic complex. A defining feature of this household,
but also it seems of most medieval Roman oikoi, was a courtyard.25
Access to this courtyard was via a gate on the ground floor of one of
Attaleiates’ houses yet it is unclear from the account of the Diataxis if this
space was bounded on all sides by Attaleiates’ properties, or if there was
also another opening to a local street. We are told by Niketas Choniates
in the twelfth century that his stately home had a courtyard gate shel-
tered from traffic so it is possible that Attaleiates’ estate also followed
the Roman tradition of inward looking oikoi that kept the gaze of the
outsider out.26
The Diataxis’ account is surprisingly confusing for a text drafted by a
lawyer. It seems to suggest that the Church of St Ioannes Prodromos,
a large dinning hall (triklinos) with a second floor gallery and one or
two more residential floors atop it, and a three-story apartment building
attached to the triklinos via the gallery, all opened onto this courtyard.27
This space, marked in the Diataxis as a monastic complex, housed a mix
of activities. From the easy sociality of the dining hall and the calm con-
templation of the viewing gallery one passed to sleeping quarters, kitch-
ens and storerooms, as well as a library and scriptorium that housed the
monastery’s seventy odd books. There was also the church itself and the
far more pungent mule-powered grain mill room. Work, contemplation,
rest, and the dispersing of alms were all activities supported by this sub-
urban oikos.
By the mid-1070s, these clustered buildings had become a space
of piety and dedication to God but we will do well to remember that
they in effect represented the sum total of two or more homes owned
by Attaleiates and his wife’s relatives, the protospatharisai Anastaso
and Euphrosyne. Members of the laity from among the city’s mid-
dling classes had in the past occupied this space. It is conceivable and
114 D. KRALLIS
in fact more than likely that before dedicating them to the monastery
Attaleiates and the extended kin of his wife had all frequented the court-
yard, attended church as a family, and dined in the triklinos, perhaps to
the accompaniment of local musicians performing for the up and coming
family from the discreet distance of the second floor gallery. In the early
days of the judge’s union with Eirene, supper in the presence of her rela-
tives would likely have been attended by their husbands and other titled
relatives or friends with careers in the different branches of Romanía’s
officialdom.
This then had been Attaleiates’ home for a number of years. We may
therefore imagine him pacing up and down the gallery as he waited in
trepidation for the cries of his birthing wife to subside and the newborn
son be presented to him, The boy Theodore likely took his first steps
in that very courtyard by the Church of the Forerunner.28 By the time
this domestic complex was dedicated to the monastery the judge had
probably purchased a second abode somewhere in the vicinity, if only to
leave a proper home to his son. Still, the repurposed halls and buildings
of his pious foundation continued for years to echo with voices familiar
to Attaleiates. Now that his family was no longer there, monks recruited
from the ranks of the bureaucracy took their place. These were surely for-
mer associates and colleagues of the judge from his days in the employ of
the courts. We will return to this space of contemplation in Chapter 10
when we discuss the monastery and its place in Attaleiates’ world in
greater detail.
This admittedly speculative reconstruction of Attaleiates’ house-
hold nevertheless opens a wide vista on the society of Constantinople in
which his oikos was situated. By the second half of the eleventh century,
the senate in the capital was comprised by as many as 2000 people of
varying degrees of wealth and influence.29 More than a thousand house-
holds like the one described here therefore dotted the landscape of the
Queen of Cities, islands of relative comfort, erudition, and influence in a
sea of volatile humanity. Some of those oikoi, the more aristocratic ones,
constituted veritable urban mansions, served by tens or even hundreds
of people. Such was surely the house of Botaneiates, known to us by an
international treaty that handed it over to the Genoese in 1192.30 This
was a large terraced space accessed through multiple gates guarded by
gatehouses and dotted with reception rooms, dining halls, a number of
houses, and two richly adorned chapels. In this space, there were also
stables, a granary, as well as areas dedicated to aesthetic appreciation and
enjoyment such as fountains, a sumptuous bath, and a kiosk. Other oikoi

like the complex described in the Diataxis were more modest though by
no means insignificant. All, however, were nodes of influence, centers of
patronage in Europe’s largest and richest city.
In discussing Attaleiates’ pious foundation, the Diataxis records a
palindromic movement between the capital and Attaleiates’ holdings
in Thrace. This back and forth between Constantinople and Raidestos
is a reflection of Attaleiates’ economic and social position as courtier
in the capital and local landowner in the Thracian grain depot. Much
as he did in Raidestos Attaleiates tried to link his family with particu-
lar sacred loci in the capital, some preexisting, and others new, like the
pious foundation described above. In his monastic charter, he therefore
allocated some rents from his property in Constantinople to the monas-
tery of St. Georgios of Kyparission, which received eighteen gold coins.31
Of this sum, eight were paid to the monks of the monastery who would
be tending his tomb, while ten were spent on the commemoration of
his deceased wives, Sophia and Eirene, and his parents, Eirenikos and
Kale. Attaleiates therefore ensured that after his death his family would
remain tied to the area of Psamatheia where he had over time built up
his Constantinopolitan estate. His tomb would remain in the care of
his son Theodoros, who was also to be buried there. As sole heir to the
judge’s fortune Theodoros the mystographos would stand to inherit the
loyalty, patronage, and friendship that his father had built over years of
active engagement with the communities of both Constantinople and
Raidestos.
In the end, Attaleiates defined himself as a Constantinopolitan despite
his evident attachment to Raidestos. His provisions for burial in the cap-
ital indicated a desire to root his family in the Queen of Cities, close to
the court and bureaucracy where he evidently saw a future for his son.
This Constantinopolitan bias notwithstanding, we cannot but note the
symbiotic relationship between Attaleiates’ assets in Constantinople and
those in Raidestos. It is evident from the stipulations of the Diataxis that
the monastery and poorhouse in Constantinople relied for its opera-
tions on revenues generated by the family estates in Raidestos. Much as
Constantinople and its ruling class consumed the wealth of the empire’s
far-flung possessions, thus the judge’s household in the Queen of Cities
fed off his provincial property.
Real estate, however, was but part of the judge’s fortune. From
clothes to furniture and from books to liturgical objects, Attaleiates’
116 D. KRALLIS
movable assets can also be at least partially reconstructed from the sur-
viving lists of goods he left the Panoiktirmon monastery. On the other
hand, membership in the senate ensured that on an annual basis a num-
ber of expensive clothing items of significant value were handed to him
as part of his salary. By the 1070s, a decade of presence at court with
titles above that of Patrikios had significantly enhanced his wardrobe
with precious silks of brilliant colors. Next to those items one must add
the linen, wool, and silk cloth that his household purchased or perhaps
even produced over the years. In Constantinople, Attaleiates had access
to one of the richest fabric markets of the Middle Ages. Much as mod-
ern north Indian and Pakistani dowries are made up of fabrics and jew-
elry, in Romanía a stock of good quality cloth represented an investment
that could be bequeathed to the next generation, or as the case may
be to a monastery. With origins in Attaleia, a major emporium with its
own vibrant linen market, links to Syria, and a local production of fab-
rics well known around the empire, Attaleiates undoubtedly appreciated
the value of such assets. Fabrics, however, were but part of a larger list
of movable valuables owned by the judge. Like imperial gold and silver
plate, Attaleiates’ liturgical and other household objects, items made of
metals of various degrees of purity, were a form of zero-yield fund to
be tapped in periods of crisis. While useful information on such hold-
ings comes from the Diataxis and its list of monastic goods it is certain
that Attaleiates possessed a whole other stock of precious or semi-pre-
cious items, which decorated his own home as well as that of his son
Theodore.
This personal fortune, both real estate and movable items, was
to some extent the product of Attaleiates’ marital arrangements.
Furthermore, in the course of his career, as the judge rose in the cur
sus honorum, he accumulated income that made such investment possi-
ble. A rough calculation based on data recorded in the Diataxis allows
us to estimate Attaleiates’ fortune at around a hundred and fifty pounds
of gold.32 This, though, does not include revenues from fees likely paid
to the judge directly by people who had brought their cases before him
before he was promoted to Constantinople’s high courts. By the tenth
century, presiding over a dispute between wealthy members of soci-
ety had become a lucrative affair for a judge and his staff. According
to legislation by Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos judges could demand
a maximum of a hundred nomismata as ektage, a form of legal fee, for
important cases, that likely caught the imagination of local public
opinion. Since most court cases then, as today, involved average peo-
ple rather than Romanía’s Fortune 500 we can assume that the litigated
sums were usually smaller. From Justinian’s laws, we learn that the judges
received four nomismata from each one of the litigants for cases involv-
ing over a hundred gold coins. Konstantinos VII had limited the extrac-
tions to three nomismata per pound of gold of disputed property. With
seventy-two nomismata per pound we can see that the tenth century
had witnessed a decrease in the money paid by the public to the judges.
This was nevertheless revenue that complimented the state salaries and
courtly stipends of the empire’s judges. Moreover, it all added up, and
cases involving more than a hundred gold coins would not be too rare.
If the average infantry soldier’s landed possessions were valued at 288
gold coins, a property dispute between two families from that social
background could easily involve more than a hundred nomismata, bring-
ing the judge in question the yearly salary of a poor Byzantine worker
in but a few court sessions. Such revenues would have been available to
Attaleiates for a number of years before the mid- to late 1060s when he
rose to the Court of the Hippodrome, whose judges were by law pro-
hibited from collecting such fees.33 With this foray, however, into the
world of judges’ revenues and movable assets we step outside Attaleiates’
household and move with him well into the social world where all this
revenue was displayed for the purposes of advancement and further
enrichment.
Notes
1. “Prices and Wages,” in EHB, p. 842 for calculations based on twelth-cen-
tury prices.
3. “Prices and Wages,” in EHB, p. 872.
4. Christophoros Mytilinaios, Poems, pp. 282–83, poem 132 on the official
who feared mud in the streets.
5. Epigram by Onestus in William R. Paton (trans.), The Greek Anthology 1
(London: William Heinemann, 1916), p. 139.
6. Anthony Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The
Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos (South Bend, IN: Notre Dame
University Press, 2006), p. 126 for the translation.
7. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, p. 72 for the
translation.
118 D. KRALLIS
8. Elizabeth Jeffreys, Four Byzantine Novels: Agapetus—Theodore Prodromos;

Rhodanthe and Dosikles—Eumathios Makrembolites; Hysmine and
Hysminias—Constantine Manasses; Aristandros and Kallithea—Niketas
Eugenianos, Drosilla and Charikles (Liverpool: Liverpool University
Press, 2012), p. 182 for the translation.
10. Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,
1992), pp. 434–35, poem 64, lines 22–27.
11. Stratis Papaioannou, “Letters Regarding Psellos’ Family,” in Kaldellis,
Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, p. 174.
12. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 335; History, p. 455, Bekker 249 on damage from
the rebellion.
14. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 341 for these numbers.
15. Johannes Koder (ed.), Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen in CFHB
33 (Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991),
pp. 128–30 [Chapters 18.0–18.5], more specifically p. 130, lines 681–85
[Chapter 18.3] on the location of bakeries away from houses and also on
general safety regulations.
17. Attaleiates, Diataxis, pp. 342–43 on St. Nicholas of Phalkon, the Holy
Mother of God Eleousa, and on celebrating the feasts of the Mother of
God, St. Michael and St. John the forerunner.
18. Attaleiates, Historia, pp. 447–49, Bekker 245.
20. Johannes Koder (ed.), Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen in CFHB 33
(Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1991), pp. 110,
120, and 134 [Chapters 10.2, 13.4, 20.3] on the hoarding of goods in
times of scarcity and on punishments for such behaviour.
22. Attaleiates, History, pp. 448–49, Bekker 245–46 on contacts with the
Prime Minister.
23. Attaleiates, History, pp. 453–55, Bekker 249–50 on the rebellion of the
Raidestinoi.
26. Niketas Choniates’ History in Jan. L. van Dieten (ed.), Nicetae Choniatae
Historia (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1975), p. 587, lines 95–100.
27. Simon P. Ellis, “The Middle Byzantine House and Family: A Reappraisal,”
in Leslie Brubaker, Shaun Tougher eds., Approaches to the Byzantine
Family (London and New York, 2013), pp. 247–73, 260–61.
28. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, p. 172 letter to

Ioannes Doukas.
29. Alexander P. Kazhdan and Michael McCormick, “Social Composition
of the Byzantine Court,” in Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204,
ed. Henry Maguire (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research
Library and Collection, 1995), p. 175.
30. Michael Angold, “Inventory of the So-Called Palace of Botaneiates,”
in Byzantine Aristocracy, IX to XIII Centuries, ed. M. Angold (BAR
International Series 221) (Oxford, 1984), pp. 254–66.
32. Paul Lemerle, Cinq Etudes sur le XIe Byzantin (Paris, 1977), p. 111.
33. Karl E. Zachariae von Lingenthal (ed.), Jus Graeco-Romanum: Pars III—
Novellae Constitutiones (Leipzig, 1857), pp. 259–61 novel VII.4 on
Konstantinos VII’s restrictions of sportulae; Chitwood, Byzantine Legal
Culture, p. 57.
CHAPTER 7
The Courts of Justice, the Court,

and the Courtiers
The Courts
“Justice is the stable and perennial will to apply the same law for each
and everyone.” This sentence has a rather banal ring in modern ears.
Equity before the law is, after all, a core aspiration of contemporary
polities, where pluralities of citizens take it for granted. On his part,
Attaleiates first encountered this bold pronouncement in the Basilika,
Leon VI’s late ninth century collection of Roman laws. His exposure
to this passage came earlier in life, when, barely an adult, he moved to
Constantinople for training in law.1 What we know about Byzantine edu-
cation suggests that Attaleiates had already dedicated considerable time
memorizing the Homeric epics before he turned his attention to the
law. Practices of rote memorization and recitation would therefore have
helped him commit to memory page after page of the empire’s main
legal corpora. The judge surely knew this text well, and in later years he
dedicated an abridged and reordered version of the Basilika to Emperor
Michael VII Doukas.2
This one line, however, had important intellectual and institutional
implications. A medieval student reading Basilika 2.1.10, likely expe-
rienced cognitive dissonance, for he surely understood that the arbitrary
actions of an all-powerful, some argued “divinely appointed emperor,”
could not be neatly squared with the law. The privilege and distinctions
built into Rome’s social system receded before this statement, which was

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_7
122 D. KRALLIS
in turn reinforced by the stipulation of Basilika 7.6.11–12. This one repro

duced Justinianic Law (CJ 3.1.11) to affirm that judges must interpret
laws according to legal tradition, precedent, and their personal sense of
justice, never fearing that the emperor might declare their decisions ille-
gal and void. Finally 9.8.1 of the Justinianic code assured Attaleiates
that the emperor would not accuse him of treason for alleged decisions
against his interests. The judge knew well that in reality the emperor could
sweep those stipulations under the rug, but also understood that ven-
erable Roman traditions animated those laws. Such traditions were older
than any living emperor or dynasty and, like golden fetters, restrained
imperial behavior, moderating an individual ruler’s autocratic proclivi-
ties. Notwithstanding such tensions between the imperial ideal and the
polity’s legal tradition, the courts and the imperial court did not exist in
open antagonism. In both these venues, Attaleiates would leverage his pro-
fessional integrity to serve personal interests and, hopefully, those of the
polity.
The world of justice, like the gated community that was the imperial
court, operated as a closed society with its own rules. Much as court cer-
emonial regulated the rhythms of life in the palace, laws and tradition
defined the parameters within which lawyers and judges operated. Men
of law occupied a special place in the polity, acting as mediators between
competing members of society. By virtue of their duties, lawyers and
those among them who became judges dealt with wide cross-sections of
society and sampled public opinion on a daily basis. Like others in the
world of justice, Attaleiates understood his role as one of public service.
What is more, his writings confirm that work at the courts in time raised
him to a prominent spot in the capital’s public sphere.
The law, however, was not just a calling, a commitment selflessly to
serve the polity. It also held out the promise of a lucrative career at the
commanding heights of Roman society. Romanía’s judges earned a good
living. In the eleventh century, provincial judges, in particular, presided
over the empire’s administrative provinces, the themes, holding among
other things the power of the purse in their areas of jurisdiction. Service
as a judge in what to Constantinopolitans often felt like a godforsaken
provincial capital was therefore a stepping-stone to a successful official
career. It usually ensured a triumphal entry into the social world of the
senate in the “Queen of Cities.” Inevitably, the temptation for embez-
zlement of state funds was strong for men operating in such proximity
to large flows of state revenue. Since the days of the Republic, provin-
cial governors had used their appointments in the empire’s far-flung
7 THE COURTS OF JUSTICE, THE COURT, AND THE COURTIERS 123
territories as opportunities for enrichment. The line between legitimate

profiteering and embezzlement of private and state funds had often
appeared but faintly traced. This then is what the verses of the poet and
judge Christophoros Mytilinaios record about the career and corruption
of a fellow judge by the name of Xeros:
A sea of goods, to use the common phrase –

That was how Xeros the judge found Greece;
But he left it, not leaving a single drop behind.3
It is perhaps with cases such as this in mind that Attaleiates explains in

the Diataxis that in his lifetime he had never held office in the provinces.
In emphatic fashion, he lets his readers know he had not been part of the
sometimes-corrupt ring of Roman provincial governors. His career was
instead built in and around the courts of the empire’s capital under the
close scrutiny of the emperor and his staff.
In Attaleiates’ time, there were a number of high courts in
Constantinople, the court of the eparch, that of the quaistor, that of the
droungarios, of the velum and the epi ton kriseon. Next to those venues, a
fifth, the Phiale dealt with the marines and crews of the fleet—admittedly
a rowdy crowd. A sixth, the Court of the Hippodrome took on impor-
tant high-level state litigation. There were also a number of lower courts,
one for each of the capital’s 14 regions. Three different categories of
people usually staffed these legal arenas. First came the archontes, who
presided over the court. They were drawn from various offices of the
administration, and on occasion the emperor might chose to join them.
The synedroi, men with legal training, acted as advisors to the archon
tes whose training and experience lay in administrative rather than legal
affairs.4 Finally, there were the kritai (judges), who pronounced the
court’s judgment, surrounded by a staff of secretaries and scribes, the
medieval equivalent of paralegals. These courts were spaces of contes-
tation. Emperor Leon VI, writing in the early tenth century, describes
what transpired in them as lively, even rowdy and disorderly activities,
unbecoming the modesty of women.5 Archived legal cases preserved in
the files of the monasteries on Mt Athos expose a world of loud debates
where the authority of the judge struggled to tame the rightful indig-
nation of aggrieved individuals and communities. Our evidence suggests
that judges could not rely on the inherent authority of their office when
facing citizens with a strong sense of their rights in spaces, which medie-
val Romans treated as venues of debate and contestation.6
124 D. KRALLIS
Work at the courts kept lawyers abreast of trends in the social and eco-
nomic life of the empire. The courts, in a way, operated as the state’s
feelers for everything that was new in citizens’ lives. The law, solemnized
by references to the past, and embodied in the expensively attired judges
and their distant patron, the emperor, was applied on a myriad mundane
cases that ensured the legal arguments by long-dead jurists would fre-
quently echo in the courts. Yet, every so often a new challenge made
its way to the courts; a notice to the judges and, for that matter, to
the supreme authority of the state that something different was afoot.
No field of life was more fascinating in that respect than the world of
the economy. Here Attaleiates and his colleagues faced a quicksand of
dynamic relations threatening to confound the best of legal minds.
The experience of a jurist, who lived and prospered in Constantinople
in the years before Attaleiates’ arrival in the capital is indicative of what
Attaleiates himself had to face.
Eustathios Romaios was a household name among men involved in
the business of justice in the early to mid-eleventh century. Attaleiates
would have read Romaios’ popular at the time collection of 183 legal
briefs on different cases that the noted legal mind had tried. The influ-
ence of Romaios’ erudition on the legal thinking of his time lingered
past his death, as one of his students created a teaching manual aptly
titled: according to some, “Peira,” or according to others “teaching” based
on the actions of the great Eustathios Rhomaios. Romaios’ career high-
lights the challenges faced by but also the opportunities open to a person
entering the world of justice.
Unlike Attaleiates, Romaios was the scion of a long line of lawyers
and judges. He first made his mark during the reign of Basileios II when
he impressed the emperor in the course of a trial. On this occasion, the
young Eustathios successfully argued against the legal consensus of the
presiding judges. The emperor’s prime minister the logothetes Symeon,
the famous Mataphrastes, took note of the performance and soon the
title of protospatharios marked Eustathios’ entry to the imperial court.
Romaios’ promotion was proof that service in the field of justice was an
effective way to attract the emperor’s attention. The link between justice
and the imperial ideal was such that the empire’s rulers and their agents
directly engaged themselves in the legal process, or at least feigned an
interest in it.7 Eustathios eventually rose to the rank of Patrikios and, by
1028, most likely in his fifties, was offered a position of assessor (ana
grapheus), which took him to the provinces for a number of months
in the course of which he helped thematic authorities calculate the tax

dues of local communities. In that same year, Eustathios and with him
the legal profession in the empire received a momentous status boost.
The prefect of the city, the eparch Romanos Argyros, rose to the throne.
The empire now had a lawyer emperor. To Attaleiates’ parents, casting a
loving glance on their son, a legal career would have appeared as good
as any at the time. Romanos’ rise had a direct impact on Romaios, who
now saw a friend from the courts on the throne. By 1030, Eustathios
had added the titles of Anthypatos, Patrikios, Vestes and logothetes tou
Dromou to his other honorifics. He was now frequently in the court,
next to the emperor as a close advisor and minister.
Romaios was likely still alive when Attaleiates arrived in Const
antinople in the early 1040s. There is a suggestion that he represented
an old guard of legal scholars, who clashed with Psellos and opposed the
new star jurist Ioannes Xiphilinos, appointed by Emperor Konstantinos
IX Monomachos to the new position of Guardian of the Laws (nomophy
lax).8 In any case, it is clear that the legal and social world joined by
Attaleiates was defined by the career and success of this man. Romaios’
career is also evidence of deeper trends in Byzantine history that shaped
Attaleiates’ view of the world and defined his approach to politics on the
one hand and the historical study of the empire on the other. In discuss-
ing cases that bore his teacher’s mark, the author of the Peira reveals a
legal process less exact and monolithic than we may think. The judges
presiding over the courts are shown, discussing, doubting, counter-
ing, and even resisting other colleagues and their opinions. Eustathios’
moment of glory before the emperor Basileios II, at the end of the
tenth century, casts the courts as places of public disputation, where
oratory and reasoned argumentation overruled tradition and unwork-
able precedent. The courts then were microcosms where judges, liti-
gants, and audience took lessons in relativism that were bound to also
affect how they all understood the emperor’s ostensibly absolute power.
Romaios’ emphasis on leniency, his readiness to treat individual cases in
their peculiar social context, in ways that challenged the law’s strict let-
ter, are reflected in Attaleiates’ own understanding of the law. Like his
predecessor in the Court of the Hippodrome, Attaleiates abhorred the
strict, unbending application of the law, with the implicit harsh, not to
say inhuman punishment of people who could be reintegrated in soci-
ety through the deliberate application of leniency. If Romaios could
think contextually and seek moderated punishments in cases of adultery,
126 D. KRALLIS
Attaleiates seems to similarly suggest that a captive Turkish commander

who had led a razia deep in Roman lands should be allowed to ransom
himself rather than be “wastefully” executed.9
On another level, the Peira, with its emphasis on interpretation and
on the judge’s idiosyncratic reading of the laws, exposes a fluid changing
world of intellectual speculation in which a member of the legal profes-
sion could have a say in the formation of new ideas, social norms, and
behaviors.10 The emperor was law embodied, but in effect it was men
like Eustathios and Attaleiates, who ordered society and managed social
interactions with their written word. It has been argued that the Peira
was an ultimately failed attempt to introduce novel ideas in law and
justice.11 This attempt is thought to have foundered as a result of the
empire’s anachronistic clinging to traditional Roman law. Yet, the closing
of the interpretative window never really took place and Attaleiates was
in a way a product of the legal frame of mind expressed by the writer of
the Peira and by his visionary teacher.
Romaios’ experience was in no way unique. The world of juris-
prudence kept evolving after the end of his career and the judges who
followed on his footsteps faced ever more complex legal challenges.
Attaleiates’ exposure to the world of economic trends and financial deals
shows a man acutely aware of the challenges faced by anyone hoping to
join the upwardly mobile in this century of opportunity. As a student of
Romaios’ decisions, he was fully familiar with the workings of usury, he
understood capital to be a generator of further capital and had a broad
sense of the investment options open to men of his social background.
His activities, as recorded in the Diataxis, indicate that he took advan-
tage of such knowledge and that he did not fear the market. Attaleiates
and his colleagues were well prepared to join a world of economic
opportunity, where wealth was the combined product of low-risk, impe-
rially sanctioned investments, and new, higher risk enterprises. Lest we
forget, his first real estate investment was made on credit, as the young
judge leveraged the guaranteed annual revenue that came with his posi-
tion at the courts to purchase property in Raidestos.
The structure of the system of justice and the number of different
courts in the capital trace for us a plausible professional trajectory for
someone who, like Attaleiates, sought a career in law. After the end
of his studies, in the course of which he likely interned as secretary at
the side of an accomplished judge, he could have sought a position as
advisor (synedros) to the nonlegally trained members in any one of the
city’s courts. He may even have started his career as a notary, a mem-
ber to a recognized city guild. Hard work, interaction with officials in
the imperial administration, and access to influential men of the court
would have raised the young man’s profile, offering him an opportu-
nity to seek a spot as judge on the city’s smaller neighborhood courts,
wherefrom he would graduate to the higher tribunals. In this profes-
sional milieu, working next to well-placed state officials, it sometimes
took but an apt classical allusion, a smart retort, and a quick quip to
pique the curiosity of someone powerful and influential. In the mid-
1040s, even as Attaleiates was looking for the key to the world of the
court, an unnamed courtier had the Constantinopolitan social scene
abuzz with his audacious approach of Emperor’s mistress, the beauti-
ful Skleraina. During an event in the palace, which afforded Skleraina
an opportunity to show herself to assembled dignitaries and assert
her place in the courtly order, the man in question uttered before her
half a Homeric line about the effect of Helen’s beauty on Achaeans
and Trojans alike. The young erudite’s comment caught Skleraina’s
attention, engaging her intellect and vanity. With the Iliad apparently
whirling in her mind, she completed Homer’s sentence and perceived
its flatering subtext. Presumably she did not forget about the literar-
ily minded courtier who could only hope that streams of courtly favor
would flow his way.12
While the smile of a lady at the court was a precious commodity,
the kind words and references of well-heeled officials serving on one
of the city tribunals were equally desirable and by no means impossi-
ble to secure. The charming Psellos had started his career as secretary
to an influential courtier who became his patron. Having completed his
studies in law at a time of prosperity for both the empire and its capi-
tal, Attaleiates was well positioned to follow in Psellos’ footsteps. From
early on in his career, long before he entered the senate, Attaleiates
would have been building his connections with members of the govern-
ing class. Intellectual prowess demonstrated at court, a shared culture
no doubt reflected in his legal briefs and oratory, and direct personal
contact prepared Attaleiates for entry into the world of the senate and
the court. While professional success came gradually, it took some time
for him to actually achieve fame. This only came in 1068 when Michael
was already in his mid-forties. At the time he served at the Court of the
Hippodrome and sat by Empress Eudokia Makremvolitisa, who presided
over Romanos Diogenes’ treason trial.
128 D. KRALLIS
What Attaleiates had accomplished by the time he had reached

Middle Age was by no means negligible. A colleague recently compared
the Court of the Hippodrome and that of the velum to the US Supreme
Court.13 In the tenth century, Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos had
reinforced the court’s reputation for impartiality by making it illegal for
its judges to receive the customary legal gifts (sportulae) that made up
an important part of other judges’ incomes.14 The court’s prestige did
not, however, completely shield it from the potential impact of money
and influence on its composition, imperial anticorruption initiatives not-
withstanding. That Psellos openly writes of having procured a seat on the
court of the velum for his good-for-nothing former son-in-law suggests
that at times less than competent judges sat on this August tribunal.15
And yet, there was prestige attached to serving on these high courts. Its
judges were true members of the courtly elite as Eustathios Romaios’
career attests.
A judge’s exposure to and coddling with the empire’s elites created
unavoidable tensions between his aspiration for upward social mobility
and the laws’ requirement for equitable treatment of men and women
according to the demands of justice. His relationship with people at the
court, people with wealth and resources at their disposal, both social
and economic, pulled him toward their side even as the law itself called
for the very different, equitable, approach to justice discussed earlier.
Michael Psellos wrote numerous letters to judges belonging to his social
circle, men connected with him through ties of education and service to
the state, with which he attempted to influence their decisions and draw
them away from justice to the side of friendship. Reciprocal obligations
generated through age-old practices of Roman social networking moder-
ated the impartial nature of justice. Remaining a just judge while main-
taining links to important men so instrumental to the advancement of his
career was no doubt a challenge for Attaleiates and his peers.16
Attaleiates’ entry into the rarefied world of the imperial court most
probably took place some time before his accession to the Court of the
Hippodrome, during the surprisingly obscure and tumultuous reign of
Konstantinos X. We do not, however, have clear record of this moment
so we have to wait a few years until the reign of Romanos Diogenes
for Michael to receive his first historically attested senatorial title. It is
likely that the judge made an impression on the emperor-to-be when
as a member of the Court of the Hippodrome he tried Romanos for his
participation in the conspiracy against Eudokia and her sons. Attaleiates
notes in the History that the court reluctantly delivered a guilty verdict,
which was only annulled by the empress herself, who soon wedded the
arrested conspirator. In any case, Attaleiates’ attitude in the course of
the trial likely grasped Romanos’ attention. When the latter assumed
the reins of the state, he entered a deeply divided court. Here he soon
realized that the Doukas family feared his power. The prospect of a
dynamic martial emperor from outside the Doukas circle stemming the
Seljuq invasions and restoring peace in the polity’s Asian lands had all
the potential to undermine the family’s position and privileges. The
Doukai would therefore likely prove a powerful force of disruption. By
bringing Attaleiates with him in the staff of military judges, Romanos
started creating his own circle of trusted advisors. The judge would pro-
vide much-needed assistance on campaign and act as a possible ally in
court politics. Attaleiates, however, was by no means the only person
drawn into Romanos’ orbit. Around the same period, his friend Basileios
Maleses was transferred from the provinces to the court after serving a
number of years as judge in the theme of Hellas. His promotion to the
rank of Logothetes of the Waters, an otherwise unattested title, likely asso-
ciated with the maintenance of Constantinople’s water supply, brought
him to the presence of the emperor and guaranteed his regular interac-
tion with Attaleiates.17
Maleses was linked to Michael Psellos, who, some argue plausibly,
had chosen him as husband for his adoptive daughter. Psellos played an
active role in advancing his career, mentoring and advising the younger
man during his years as a provincial judge. We know from Psellos’ earlier
failed attempt to find a partner well worth his daughter’s hand that he
had a very specific idea of what he was looking for in a son-in-law. Such
a man had to be respectful of his daughter, offering his focused affec-
tion and dedicated protection. Above all, however, he was to be a wor-
thy intellectual partner for Psellos himself. He had to be open to Psellos’
philosophical and other concerns and show an interest in secular knowl-
edge. In short, Psellos sought to groom a younger version of himself as
husband to his daughter. Of Maleses, who was likely that same man, we
know from his friend Attaleiates that he belonged to Romanos’ inner cir-
cle.18 Psellos’ correspondence confirms that, imperial connections aside,
the man dabbled in poetry.
If Maleses and Attaleiates embodied the type of new man Romanos
attracted to his person, our view of Psellos’ interaction with him has to
this day been skewed by the philosopher’s wholesale denunciation of this
emperor in the Chronographia. In both scholarly work and modern his-
torical novels, Psellos appears as a cunning unscrupulous courtier bent
130 D. KRALLIS
on undermining the heroic emperor. And yet, there is every indication

that we have been fooled by the courtier’s rhetoric and posturing. His
letters suggest that notwithstanding later attempts to present himself
as an enemy of Diogenes and despite his Doukas links, Psellos was in
fact rather close to Romanos.19 Such proximity to the emperor, how-
ever, once again brings him closer to Attaleiates. The simple mechanics
of court business but also the realities of friendships and family relation-
ships made the interaction between the two men inevitable, perhaps even
intimate. If Maleses was indeed Psellos’ son-in-law, then such intimacy
becomes near certainty.
Attaleiates’ relationship with Romanos was built on the campaign
trail during this emperor’s first year of campaigning. Here the judge was
responsible for military justice. These first few months of professional
interaction and collaboration proved to the emperor that Attaleiates
was a competent man whom he could trust with the serious business
of running army justice in times of war. After the first year in the field,
before the beginning of the 1069 campaigning season, the emperor
called Attaleiates to his presence and announced that he expected him
to once again join his staff for the coming season. This is the moment
when the state official appeared to be morphing into an essential mem-
ber of the emperor’s inner circle, and yet Attaleiates was not ready for
yet another arduous campaign. It appears that in his meeting with the
emperor he bulked and most probably proffered some sort of excuse. He
was a judge, not a soldier and had a young son who, not so far back,
lost his mother. He was no doubt going to be missed at home. Romanos
was unrelenting but also unwilling to stretch the limits of loyalty. To coat
the pill, he promoted Attaleiates to the rank of patrikios. The emperor’s
decision to thus cement his relationship with the judge had implications
beyond the simple reality of pay scale and the attendant commitment to
yet another year of campaigning. It increased the judge’s status at court
and raised his family’s position in Constantinople. And yet Romanos’
timing was surely infelicitous.
The Fanfare That Was Not

A person’s induction to the order of the patrikioi was more than an
administrative decision recorded on palace registers. As a ceremonial
moment with civic and political import, this was a rite of passage but
also a solemn expression of the imperial will, a public and memorable
instance in the capital’s life. While certainly not on a par with corona-
tions, royal or princely weddings, and triumphal processions, the crea-
tion of a patrikios was a state occasion that punctuated the court’s as well
as the city’s calendar and turned the man endowed with the emperor’s
trust into a household name in Constantinople. As the case may be, we
are fortunate to possess a fascinating medieval text focused precisely on
medieval Roman pomp and circumstance. The Book of Ceremonies com-
piled at the order of Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos in the middle
of the tenth century offers us a plausible play-by-play account of this
important public event. While we must remain cautious in our use of a
text that was already a hundred years old by Attaleiates’ time, it is still
useful as a rough outlines map of Romanía’s courtly geographies.
In the days leading up to the creation of a patrikios members of the
senate received notice of the coming event and were asked to attend
clad in appropriate ceremonial garb. Palace servants would have fanned
out throughout the streets of the city with the relevant invitations. By
the second half of the eleventh century, senators numbered in the thou-
sands, as a solid period of economic development had led to the rise of
a whole new category of urban rich.20 New men of means now joined
the senate alongside established members of the empire’s elite. Most
of these men likely received the imperial invitation from the hands of
their own servants in their stately homes. Liveried messengers also no
doubt visited the heads of the city guilds and reminded them of their
obligation to show up. The business community of the city knew well
that it was more than the emperor’s will that demanded their presence
in yet another long ceremony. The honorand himself was an important
figure and the heads of the guilds sought to court his good will. In the
case of promoted judges, the business community could take no risks
by offending a prominent member of the courts. The army command-
ers and the heads of the guard most likely received the news from their
adjutants in barracks located on the palace grounds. Last but not least
the demarchoi, heads of the city’s circus factions, were approached and
asked to bring their choir, organs, and other musical instruments at the
event.21 The hydraulic organs of the demes, predecessors to their west-
ern ecclesiastical clones, added bombast to this big moment in the life
of a courtier.
This elaborate roll call put to motion a rumor mill and turned the key
to hundreds if not thousands of wardrobes and jewelry-cases. No mem-
ber of the senate, no guest of the emperor could lose face by appearing
132 D. KRALLIS
less than perfectly attired before his peers. As for the future patrikios’
marital status, the size of his family and its estate, those would instantly
become topics of conversation among the city’s people. Some no doubt
thought this was more evidence that the empire’s social order was being
overturned by provincial upstarts and opportunists. Others saw a patrik
ios’ promotion as proof that a good man could indeed make it to the
inner recesses of the palace and the upper rungs of the social ladder. We
must in fact not underestimate the effect that such ceremonial had in
reinforcing loyalty not only to the emperor but also the entire Roman
order and system of governance.
The careful choreographing of the event, which included people from
all walks of life, from the circus-factions representatives and the guilds
acting as stand-ins for the urban plebs, to the senators and the clergy,
affirmed the place of broad swathes of Constantinopolitan society in the
Roman body politic. The ceremony sought to replicate republican ideas
of universal consensus while at the same time reflecting the hierarchal
nature of Roman society. The honorand would bow before the emperor
in a fashion that republican Romans would have found servile, and yet at
the same time the newly minted patrikios knew that in its constituent ele-
ments this event was a not so distant echo of imperial investiture. People,
senate, clergy, and the palace were the actors and setting for both.
Ideology and symbolism aside, for the attending representatives
of the demes, keenly aware of the new patrikios’ origins, his promo-
tion was just proof that success was within everyone’s reach. Success
would have been the buzzword in eleventh-century Constantinople.
Throughout this era, men like Attaleiates, Psellos, Maleses, and numer-
ous others had been joining the ranks of Roman officialdom, walking
the palace corridors in increasing numbers. Others, less educated than
the two historians, used their financial heft to assume positions and
social status until recently reserved to soldiers, bureaucrats, and fami-
lies of old ancestry. The new shipping magnates, whether owners, cap-
tains or as the case may be caulkers and operators of arsenals, could
now envisage a chance to appear before the emperor and even, why
not, sit on the throne. Not every patrikios of this new era of social flux
understood the historical origins and etymology of his title, and even
fewer would have read texts in which Roman patricians of the repub-
lican era—an ancient time indeed—had assumed the role of historical
protagonists. Attaleiates, however, was keenly aware of his place on the
long arc of the empire’s history.
If invitations to members of the senate were part of the run-up to the

ceremony, the preparation of the palace was also no mean task, albeit
one that was practiced often and performed well. According to tradi-
tion, the court had to be bedecked as if for Sunday services, such allu-
sions to the day of the Lord casting the coming ceremony in solemn
light. The morning of the event the senate was assembled in the space
of the covered Hippodrome on the edge of the palace complex, where
everyone changed into their formal clothing. Then they moved into the
triklinos of Justinian whence they proceeded into the adjacent hall where
they beheld the emperor sitting on his throne in full ceremonial gear.
The serried ranks of senators entered the room one after the other and
assumed their customary places before their sovereign. First came the
magistroi, followed by patrikioi, hypatoi, komites, kandidatoi and finally
the apo eparchon and the stratelatai. Once those notables were in place
by the side of the pre-positioned members of the circus factions, the
emperor invited the introduction of the man of the day. By now, the new
patrikios’ name had been circulated among those in attendance. On this
instance, the honourand entered the room and cast his eyes upon the
leader of the Roman body politic, his master and patron. Before he could
get a good measure of the space, he prostrated himself in the middle of
the hall in view of the whole senate.
A few moments later, led by the Master of Ceremonies, the praiposi
tos, the honorand stood directly before the emperor for one more act of
prostration which this time included a ceremonial kiss on the sovereign’s
purple shoe. Once back on his feet the newly minted patrikios received
from the hands of the emperor the “diploma” formally confirming his
status. It was now time to turn toward the other patrikioi in attendance
and receive their congratulations for his induction into their ranks. A
final prostration before the throne ensued after which he addressed the
emperor directly, publicly thanking him for the honor. Then moving to a
palace chapel, the new dignitary lit a candle to God and at the very end
of the ceremony was acclaimed by the circus factions in his new rank.
Turning to the demarchoi of the two major factions, the Greens and the
Blues, our patrikios would have performed a respectful bow receiving
from them commensurate respect.
That was not all, however. The new patrikios now entered one of the
church buildings in the palace grounds, was blessed by the patriarch, and
parted with his prescribed donation of 50 nomismata for the Church’s
coffers. The day came to a close at this stage, as the promoted senator
134 D. KRALLIS
was escorted by the silentiarios on horseback and in red ceremonial

dress, back to his city home. They dined together on a table set accord-
ing to precise instructions received from the palace and likely discussed
the events of the day. Once the dinner was over and after the guests had
left, the patrikios was once again alone to contemplate fortune and its
blessings.
Modern readers do not necessarily fully appreciate the significance
of the events that marked this day in the life of medieval Roman up
and comers. What to us appears perhaps as fanfare and colorful folk-
lore, albeit on imperial scale, was in fact an important, if oft repeated,
moment of medieval statecraft. In the course of two days, first as word
of the coming ceremony traveled around town and then during the day
of the ceremony itself, a man with a defined courtly identity was invested
with social and political attributes that changed his status at court and
position within Constantinopolitan society and the empire as a whole.
Attaleiates was not an unknown quantity in 1069 when Romanos
decided to honor him. The city and the courtiers already knew him as
a celebrity judge from Diogenes’ treason trial. The emperor himself had
worked with him in the course of 1068 over months of exacting cam-
paigning. Many trades’ people and numerous litigants would have
encountered him during deliberations on their own court cases and, as
already noted, a whole array of intellectuals and courtiers already had ties
to and opinions of him from their years together as students and mem-
bers of the empire’s administrative machine.
You could therefore ask yourself what the point was of the ceremony?
Its function was complex, yet its purpose clear. Ceremonies were and still
are forms of scaled-up communication. An entire city of perhaps quarter
to half a million people was put on alert for two days as gossip and infor-
mation circulated regarding the newest addition to the ranks of the elite.
To the thousands of common people, represented in this ceremonial
by the demarchoi of the circus factions and the heads of the guilds, this
was information about a possible new patron. The man many of them
saw riding through the city escorted by an impressively liveried imperial
agent, was one among thousands of senators, member of a select class
of people who had access to the emperor. This was a patron who could
offer his clients meaningful protection. To potential enemies that the
patrikios may have had, the emperor was signaling that this individual
was now further out of their reach than he had ever been before.
There was finally another group of people worth discussing, the mem-
bers of the senate, who had been an integral part of the ceremonial wit-
nessed above. Attaleiates was already one of them, having entered the
senate with his first judicial appointment as krites and protospatharios.
Now the honorand moved even closer to the emperor. In the course of
the ceremony, a new patrikios performed his special relationship with the
emperor for everyone to see. He kissed the emperor’s feet so he could
then look at his eyes as he received his title. He then prostrated himself
in order to gain the right to publically address the emperor. To the other
patrikioi in the room, he was now both a competitor but also a possi-
ble partner. Everyone would have known about his familial status and it
is not inconceivable that by the end of that day, or certainly soon after,
concrete conversations would begin for the betrothal of the patrikios’
child to the offspring of some other senate member. Homes previously
closed to him would suddenly open their doors and new social contacts
created. Those would have brought the new patrikios in closer contact
to rich merchants and tradesmen of the capital who had the resources
to buy their way into the patriciate, but also to members of the empire’s
warrior elite, which traditionally carried the title along its military rank.
Yet fortune conspired so that this brilliant and important cere-
mony would eschew Attaleiates. When Romanos made him a patrikios,
Attaleiates was with the emperor on the empire’s Asian lands away from
Constantinople. The emperor who had been planning a campaign against
the Turks suddenly faced the unforeseen rebellion of the Norman condot
tiere Crispin who forced him into early action. Setting out in haste with
Attaleiates in tow, he reached Malangeia. Here, in one of the empire’s
main army muster stations, he asked Attaleiates to join him as he set out
for the inner areas of Anatolia in pursuit of the rebel Crispin and eventu-
ally the Seljuq raiders. On the campaign trail, however, there was no time
for elaborate ceremonies. Pomp and circumstance receded before toil and
discipline. Attaleiates who was promoted to the rank of patrikios would
have to wait for the middle of the following decade for the next opportu-
nity to experience what escaped him in the spring of 1069.
Having missed his chance to participate in this grand palace event,
Attaleiates could at least console himself knowing that along with the
other patrikioi resident in the capital he was now part of an elite net-
work of privilege and influence. One public opportunity had escaped
him, yet others would surely be offered in the future. To the people of
136 D. KRALLIS
Constantinople the patrikioi were, after all, an easily recognizable group

of fancily dressed men droning about the emperor. On major public
events such as chariot races, they joined him in reconstituting for the
eyes of the Constantinopolitan populace the order of the imperial court.
Before tens of thousands of sports fans the patrikioi, Attaleiates among
them, would enter the emperor’s box in the Hippodrome, and perform
public obeisance, thus assuming a most prominent position within the
imperial taxis.22 An ordered world of clearly defined social classes and
carefully allocated privilege took shape before the mass of citizens assem-
bled in the world’s largest sporting venue (Fig. 7.1).
All this, however, would have to wait. After receiving Romanos’ orders
and whatever reward came with them, Attaleiates likely informed his fam-
ily of his promotion and impending absence. Arrangements had to be
made for the proper management of his household in view of yet another
year away from Constantinople. We should not, however, imagine
Attaleiates as a lonely civilian embarking on this martial adventure.
Fig. 7.1 The Emperor in the Kathisma—From the base of the Egyptian

Obelisk at the Hippodrome of Constantinople
He was joined on the campaign trail by a number of his fellow courtiers.

Basileios Maleses was with the emperor while Psellos also faced pressure
to join, pressure he too, like Attaleiates, felt he could not deflect.
It is therefore interesting to observe the parallel fortunes of two men
who knew each other, interacted in the same social settings, and shared
friends, ideas, and intellectual interests. Their relationship is emblematic of
the ways in which the court shaped but also changed friendships. When
in 1069, Attaleiates and Psellos along with their common friend Basileios
Maleses and numerous other courtiers found themselves quartered in
neighboring tents in Romanos’ army camps, they likely all assumed roles
of imperial advisors. Both Attaleiates and Maleses had recently enjoyed pro-
motions, while Psellos was still a member of Romanos’ inner circle. The
army life of court officials is examined below, in Chapter 8, where we take
a closer look at Attaleiates’ experience as a campaigning judge. For now
we turn to the society of warriors, which defended the Roman polity and
actively participated in its politics in the course of Attaleiates’ life.
Notes
1. Basilika 2.1.10.
2. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 181–82 on Attaleiates and the
Ponema.
3. Christophoros Mytilinaios, Poems, pp. 36–37, poem 20. Here the poet
plays with the meaning of the judge’s name; xeros = dry/parched.
4. Helen Saradi, “The Byzantine Tribunals: Problems in the Application of
Justice and State Policy (9th–12th c.),” Revue des études byzantines 53
(1995), p. 171 on the members of the court, 172 on the 14 regions.
5. Leon VI, Novel 48 in Spyridon Troianos, Οι Νεαρές: Λέοντος του Σοϕού
(Athens: Herodotos, 2007), pp. 174–76.
6. Dimitris Tsougkarakis, Κεκαυμένος, Στρατηγικόν (Athens: Agrostis, 1996),
p. 31 for the text and Charlotte Roueché’s online translation under I. On
Holding Public Office.
7. Attaleiates, History, pp. 36–37, Bekker 21–22 on Monomachos’ interest
in justice as seen in his creation of new legal offices; pp. 568–81, Bekker
312–18 on Botaneiates’ legal initiatives.
8. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 150–52 and pp. 162–78 on legal
education with a different take on the issue from Wanda Wolska-Conus
as developed in “Les écoles de Psellos et de Xiphilin sous Constantin IX
Monomaque,” TM 6 (1976), pp. 223–43; “L’école de droit et renseigne-
ment du droit à Byzance au Xle siècle: Xiphilin et Psellos,” TM 7 (1979),
pp. 1–107.
138 D. KRALLIS
9. Attaleiates, History, p. 279, Bekker 153 on the harshly punished soldier;

Attaleiates, History, p. 233, Bekker 127 on Romanos and the executed
Turkish captive; Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 1–2 on a fas-
cinating case of adultery; Oikonomides, Abortive Attempt, pp. 186–88,
specifically p. 185 on leniency.
10. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 86–96 on the Byzantinization of
Roman law.
11. Nicolas Oikonomides, “The ‘Peira’ of Eustathios Rhomaios: An Abortive
Attempt to Innovate in Byzantine Law,” in Fontes Minores 7, ed. Dieter
Simon (Frankfurt: Löwenklau, 1986), pp. 190–92.
12. Psellos, Chronographia, VI. 61 (Renaud, p. 146) on the Skleraina and
Homer.
13. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, p. 70 on the judges of the
Hippodrome as Supreme Court judges; Andreas Goutzioukostas, p. 155
on the judges of the hippodrome and velum as μικροί δικασταί below the
eparch, quaistor, and drungarios of Vigla.
14. Zachariae von Lingenthal, Jus Graeco-Romanum, pp. 259–61 Novel VII.
4 on tenth-century restrictions on sportulae; Chitwood, Byzantine Legal
Culture, p. 57.
15. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, p. 151 on hypomnema.
16. Marc Lauxtermann and Michael Jeffreys (ed.), The Letters of Psellos:
Cultural Networks and Historical Realities (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2017) is an invaluable guide to networks of influence in
Byzantium; Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, p. 66 on the strains of
service as a judge on friendship.
17. Jim Crow, “Ruling the Waters: Managing the Water Supply of
Constantinople, AD 330–1204,” Water History 4 (2012), pp. 35–55,
here p. 52 on the logothetes ton hydaton.
18. Attaleiates, History, pp. 302–30, Bekker 167 and pp. 340–43, Bekker
187–88, pp. 348–51, Bekker 192 on Maleses’ life and career; Krallis,
Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline, pp. 237–43 for
analysis and bibliography.
19. Kenneth Snipes, “A Letter of Michael Psellus to Constantine the Nephew
of Michael Cerularios,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 22.1
(Spring 1981), pp. 99–100 for the Greek text p. 101 for the translation.
20. Alexander P. Kazhdan and Michael McCormick, “Social Composition of
the Byzantine Court,” in Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204, ed.
Henry Maguire (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library
and Collection, 1995), p. 175.
21. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis I, pp. 184, 197
(Chapters 35 and 39) for the organs of the factions.
22. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis 1, pp. 305–8
(Chapter 68) and pp. 365–66 (Chapter 73).
CHAPTER 8
The Army in Society.

The Society of the Army
In late August 1071, the judge of the Hippodrome, the velum, and the
imperial army Michael Attaleiates stood before the encampments of
Emperor Romanos IV Diogenes’ expeditionary force as rumors of defeat
filtered back toward him from the front lines. Undeterred by the pros-
pect of Roman rout Attaleiates tried to convince retreating soldiers who
came his way to turn about, stand their ground, and assist the beleaguered
imperial vanguard.1 This image is oddly tragicomic and may also be the
figment of post-traumatic imagination. Are we to imagine a bookish judge
standing in the middle of a dusty plain—arrows whizzing in the air—try-
ing to single-handedly turn the tide of battle? Much as we would find it
difficult to picture a suited lawyer holding an automatic rifle and fighting
insurgents in the treacherous streets of Kandahar or Aleppo, we experi-
ence cognitive dissonance as we set a figure in colorful skaramangia in
the midst of a medieval battle. Silk clad officials belong to the Byzantine
court; they are not the stuff of battle narratives and martial heroics.
This image of Attaleiates seeking to stem the flow of history’s relent-
less attack on Rome’s imperial army was likely less dissonant for the con-
temporary readers of his History. The “fighting” courtier was in fact
hardly an isolated oddity in the polity’s long history. Over the years,
the empire saw its fair share of bureaucrat-led armies while numerous
eunuchs from the emperor’s chambers were entrusted with the com-
mand of soldiers.2 On his part, the educated urbanite, well-known legal
scholar, plugged-in courtier, and loyal patriot, Michael Attaleiates, was

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_8
140 D. KRALLIS
no civilian slouch. Standing at the pinnacle of the empire’s military jus-

tice apparatus, he had a number of campaign seasons under his belt.
Since Prokopios of Caesarea, who wrote some five centuries earlier
recording Justinian’s wars of conquest, few historians had witnessed first
hand the vicissitudes of the battlefield. Attaleiates was therefore a mem-
ber of a select group. He was also, along with Prokopios, the bearer of
a long tradition of history writing that evokes the well-respected works
of Thucydides and Polybios, both men with considerable military experi-
ence. In the next chapter, we follow the empire’s wars against the Seljuqs
as those unfolded before the judge’s eyes in the course of Romanos
Diogenes’ reign. In the pages that follow, we look at the army’s presence
in society. Attaleiates’ own life experience offered him interesting vantage
points on the relationship of the empire’s army with the polity of the
Romans. Furthermore, his career afforded him a unique perspective on
the army as a Romanizing agent in a time of ethnic ambiguity and flux.
The Army in Society

Byzantine historians followed Greco-Roman historiographical models
that placed what to us may appear as outsized emphasis on war, soldiers,
and the management of military affairs. Unsurprisingly, then, a mod-
ern reader seeking to reconstruct life in the Middle Byzantine Era relies
on histories and chronicles that privilege a rather martial view of his-
tory. As a consequence, Byzantine society figures in scholarship as unu-
sually militarized. And yet in a polity of roughly ten million souls the
presence of the soldiers was hardly ubiquitous or overwhelming. Some
hundred thousand men populated the state’s military registers, only a
fraction of those finding themselves in active campaign duty at any one
time. By comparison, Modern Greece with a similar population keeps
just about the same amount of people under arms. Most tourists visiting
Greece today rarely see a soldier unless they storm the beeches of liminal
islands by the frontier with Turkey. During the first thirty or so years of
the eleventh century, military successes and the ensuing peace had led
to a reorganization of the empire’s military establishment. The medie-
val equivalent of camp closures was accompanied by the repositioning of
military units from the core of Asia Minor—whence for years they had
participated in an in-depth defense of Byzantine territories—to forward
positions on the empire’s expanded frontiers. In this new era of peace,
the daughter of a farmer in the uplands of Paphlagonia or a shepherd
8 THE ARMY IN SOCIETY. THE SOCIETY OF THE ARMY 141
grazing his flock far from the military highways of the Anatolian plateau
could have lived long lives never having seen a soldier or the dust cloud
trailing an army on march.
That, however, was not Attaleiates’ experience. Born in Attaleia, the
capital of the naval theme of the Kibyrraiotai, Michael grew up close to
the headquarters of the fleet that patrolled the waters between Cyprus
and Asia Minor, extending its operations all the way to Byzantine Syria.
The local commander, the strategos, would have sported his most impres-
sive military gear while walking the streets of the city on the impor-
tant feasts of the Orthodox calendar. Next to him, the droungarios of
the Gulf, vice admiral of the fleet, and the Katepano of the Mardaites,
commander of a special unit of marines, made up the local military tri-
umvirate. In every celebration, the polished brass of weapons and armor
would compete with the glow of the Church’s liturgical objects for the
attention of the revelers.3 As one gazed at the soldier standing before a
fresco depicting a soldier-saint, the links between the defenders of the
empire and God’s host of holy men were reinforced. The army com-
mander was central to the city’s social life underlining the tight embrace
between the armed forces of the empire and the civilian population.
Unlike the increasingly demilitarized Anatolian plateau, Attaleia evoked a
martial view of the medieval Roman polity. In a town that played host to
roughly six thousand sailors and marines, few people would not have had
a mariner in their extended family. It is therefore likely that Attaleiates’
own family included relatives and friends in the navy. As for the sheer
physical setting of the city with its impressive walls and well-protected
harbor, it spoke of the intimate link between the army and the people; a
link reinforced every time the strategos demanded corvée from the local
population for the repair of the walls and the routine maintenance of the
local bridge over the Kestros river, used by land troops at the neighbor-
ing inland town of Sylaion.4
In a state document declassified in the tenth century at the order
of Emperor Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos, we read of fifteen dro
mones, and sixteen pamphyloi that sailed from harbors of the Kibyrraiot
theme, most of them from Attaleia. These different types of galleys were
manned according to this peculiar document by 230, 160, and 130 row-
ers each. The dromones in particular carried seventy marines on top of
their complements of sailors. A total of 6760 rowers and soldiers sailed
from the harbors of Attaleia and Kos, most from the former.5 Earlier,
ninth-century evidence refers to seventy Kibyrraiot ships sailing on an
142 D. KRALLIS
expedition against Muslim-held Crete. Moreover, Attaleia was home

to an arsenal, which built the pamphyloi and repaired the vessels that
needed to be kept in operating order. Thousands of men and their fam-
ilies lived off the empire’s navy and the businesses that kept it sailing.
Household conversations doubtlessly revolved around local heroes and
their deeds of valor against the Saracens. Attaleia had, after all, its own
warrior lore, populated by fighting icons created in the centuries of naval
action against the neighboring Muslim foe. Basileios Hexamilites in the
tenth century defeated a fleet from Tarsos and the heroics of his men
earned him a triumph in the Hippodrome.6 In 1035, Konstantinos Hayé
destroyed an enemy fleet in the Aegean, only to then sail north to deliver
500 captives to the emperor for a triumph in the capital before return-
ing triumphant to his home base in Attaleia. The city even had a local
naval martyr, the admiral Theophilos, who died in Baghdad after being
captured on the aftermath of a naval engagement.7 This was Attaleiates’
world at the time of his childhood. It is hardly surprising then that in
the course of his professional life he developed a close interest in military
affairs, social links in the ranks of the army, and a career linked to the
empire’s fighting forces.
Attaleiates’ hometown experience was adequate preparation for his
eventual introduction to the empire’s “military industrial complex” in
and around Constantinople. Though far from the frontiers, the capital
remained the empire’s primary fortress. During centuries of Islamic and
Slavic attacks, the Queen of Cities became the polity’s bulwark and last
line of defense all in one. Inscriptions on the walls of Attaleia proudly
proclaimed Michael’s hometown as the best fortified of the empire’s cit-
ies.8 At the capital, Michael no doubt realized that this was only true
if one discounted Constantinople. Its massive walls still represented
the pinnacle of military engineering six centuries after their construc-
tion by Theodosius II in the twilight of antiquity. The latest in ballis-
tae and catapult technology lined its fortifications, while soldiers better
equipped than any he had seen in his hometown manned its defenses.
At the same time, the capital offered a fascinating mix of the civilian and
military classes. The populace, unarmed under normal circumstances,
could become a formidable force of resistance when outfitted with even
makeshift weapons and called to the ramparts. Constantinopolitans were
a querulous, belligerent lot, ready to confront the imperial guard when
shunned by the authorities or rally around their favorite emperor against
provincial contenders.9 Next to the people of the city, Attaleiates would
have encountered soldiers that made up the imperial campaign army,

the tagmata, and the imperial guard. To them, one must add the sailors
and marines of the imperial fleet that was moored in the Golden Horn
harbor of the Neorion. In Constantinople, even time was marked by
the rhythms of the guard, while the city’s economic life was also inti-
mately associated with war, warriors, and military activity. The Book
of the Eparch, a tenth-century text regulating the city’s guilds, records
the saddle-makers’ obligation to outfit, when called upon, those cav-
alry troops stationed in the vicinity of the capital. The city’s shipyards,
on the other hand, located outside the city walls on the shore opposite
the Blachernai neighborhood, employed hundreds of artisans that served
both private shipping and the imperial fleet.10
Inside the Theodosian walls the Mese, Constantinople’s central ave-
nue, was a parade ground for victorious emperors and their generals
returning from battle. Like the streets of Moscow in the heyday of the
Soviet Union, pouring formations of tanks, missiles, and goose-marching
soldiers into the Red Square before the scrutinizing gaze of the secre-
tary general of the Communist Party, the Mese regularly saw demonstra-
tions of the empire’s might. One such triumph, celebrated by Michael IV
for his victory over a Balkan rebellion, was likely among Attaleiates’ first
impressions of the capital.11
Civic celebrations aside, Constantinopolitans also inhabited a symbolic
universe in which their lived environment could be seen as a battlefield
dotted by different phases of the empire’s tumultuous history. According
to some the forum of Constantine, the center of civic activity, was built
in imitation of a military camp, the two semicircles forming it represent-
ing cavalry stables focused on the central point of this large plaza where
the column of Constantine stood as a rallying point for the troops.12
Even the Hippodrome, a center of spectacle and of politically charged
interaction between emperor and people, evoked war by affording the
polity’s rulers a venue wherein to celebrate victory. Here every chariot-
eer’s success became an occasion for the symbolic reenactment of impe-
rial military triumph.
In his years of life in the Queen of Cities, Attaleiates had ample
opportunity to interact with the soldiers of the imperial guard quar-
tered in the premises of the palace and would have even seen them in
action. In 1042, during the reign of Konstantinos Monomachos, he wit-
nessed the stunning appearance of an uninvited squadron of Rus ships
on the shores of Constantinople. Thousands of men would have rushed
144 D. KRALLIS
at a frantic pace through the streets of the capital toward the Neoreion,
where the ships of the fleet were quickly prepared for battle. Oars, ropes,
and sails were taken out of storage and the sound of hammers and saws
was likely drowned by the cries of family members cheering their rela-
tives from the quay. Priests held impromptu liturgies for the blessing of
the marines’ weapons and the ships’ hulls and masts while prayers were
addressed to God on the occasion of the fleet’s departure.13
Once the fleet set out, the Constantinopolitans climbed onto the
sea walls and watched from a safe distance their navy in action. Victory
ensued and for days after the return of the triumphant marines and crews
into the welcoming berths of the Neoreion, heroism was the talk of the
city. Attaleiates most certainly heard that Basileios Theodorokanos sin-
gle-handedly fought dozens of Rus and captured their vessels. The story
stayed with him and in the 1070s made it into the History at a time when
the empire’s military fortunes were waning.14 It also no doubt evoked
childhood memories from Attaleia in Michael’s mind. He was a child and
likely still in town when the victorious Konstantinos Hayé led his fleet
back to Attaleia having delivered a crushing blow on a Saracen fleet rav-
aging the Aegean.
Yet victory over the empire’s enemies was not all Attaleiates experi-
enced in his many years as a Constantinopolitan. The rebellion of Leon
Tornikios brought a massive army composed of the empire’s seasoned
European regiments to the vicinity of the capital. The sight of this well-
drilled and splendidly equipped military force before the Theodosian
walls would have been both awesome and terrifying for the city’s inhabit-
ants. Thousands of tents and campfires became foci around which differ-
ent regiments with their distinctive gear, pennons, and weapons arranged
themselves. Horsemen and infantrymen as well as craftsmen working on
siege equipment—the medieval equivalent of the army corps of engi-
neers—gave all who watched the rebel forces from the walls of the city, a
clear sense of the empire’s might, arranged as it was against its own peo-
ple. The skirmishes that ensued between the native forces of the rebels
and the Muslim mercenaries in the emperor’s employ would also have
fascinated the spectator. How peculiar that God’s lieutenant on earth
would rely on heathens for his safety. The retreat and eventual defeat
of Tornikios confirmed the truism that Constantinople was indeed the
empire’s greatest asset.
A few years later another rebel’s army appeared before the walls of
the city. The soldiers of Isaakios Komnenos camped before the capital
having first defeated in Asia Minor the very same European regiments
Attaleiates had seen in Constantinople’s environs nine years earlier. This
time, however, the city received Isaakios, who sailed from the shores of
Asia straight to the imperial palace and a warm welcome.15 Attaleiates’
home was just off the main road leading from the Golden Gate to the
palace and his family would have had the opportunity to watch, from
their vantage point on the southern branch of the Mese, the soldiers of
the victorious general who entered from the Golden Gate and marched
toward the center of the city. The judge himself along with other lawyers
and judges was likely in the downtown core of the city if not the palace
itself, alongside the empire’s officialdom, anticipating the arrival of their
new master. Many among them, like the protean Michael Psellos, who
now claimed a position very close to the emperor, would have looked
forward to promotions and improvements of their position at court.
Before that, however, fortune’s new favorite had to be publically
acclaimed emperor. At the courtyard of Hagia Sophia, Isaakios stood tall
on a raised platform and in plain sight took the crown from the hands of
the patriarch placing it on his own head, in a gesture not unlike the one
depicted in David’s famous painting of Napoleon’s coronation.16 When
shortly after his crowning citizens held Isaakios’ gold currency in their
hands, they saw him on it depicted in military garb, his one hand on the
sheath, the other holding his sword up toward the sky. The people now
knew: The polity was to be led by military virtue. It was to that sword,
after all, that Isaakios owed his place on the throne. A soldier now ruled
Constantinople, the empire’s largest military encampment. Among cir-
cles of intellectuals and courtiers, there was undoubtedly debate. Some
among them remembered a speech delivered during the reign of the
urbane Konstantinos Monomachos, celebrating the kind nature of
peace-loving Romans. In his oration, Ioannes Mauropous had juxta-
posed in well-tried fashion the Roman love of peace to the restlessness
of the bloodthirsty and warlike barbarians and rebels. In this time of rela-
tive peace, the Roman polity could pretend it shunned war, highlighting
the merits of diplomacy and deliberation.17 A decade or so later Isaakios
projected a very different image, as troubles brewed on the empire’s bor-
ders. Psellos and his courtly circle of urbane intellectuals declared them-
selves in favor of change. Attaleiates too was onboard, looking forward
to a day when he would enter the charmed world of the imperial court.
A few years and numerous battlefield reversals after Isaakios’ reign,
another military man, Romanos Diogenes, rose to the throne. During this
146 D. KRALLIS
emperor’s reign, Attaleiates’ life took a decisive martial turn as he joined

the emperor on three long campaigns in Asia Minor, Syria, and Armenia.
Attaleiates records little about his life as a member of Romanos’ staff. What
we know about his experience on the campaign trail is piecemeal and frag-
mentary. He tells his readers, for example, that he rode his own horse on
the march and mentions instances when he participated in strategy sessions
in the emperor’s tent. Little else, however, is known about his months with
the emperor’s army. Much, however, can be safely inferred and accurately
reconstructed. As army judge, he surely employed a staff of scribes to assist
him with his court duties and likely traveled with the army’s baggage train,
where non-combatants were positioned. The nature of his office also dic-
tated that he frequently communicate with the leaders of the foreign army
contingents, dealing with them directly or through bilingual pages who
acted as mediators. On one occasion, before a crucial battle, he even per-
sonally administered loyalty oaths to a contingent of Patzinakoi. The bar-
barian leader and members of his contingent must have approached the
judge in public. In a location visible to the rest of the army, whose concerns
about the loyalty of those mercenaries the ceremony was meant to allay,
these foreign men performed before him the Patzinak ritual associated to
such an oath. The Romans had a long history of accepting and even trust-
ing such heathen oaths, ecclesiastical concerns notwithstanding.18 In a way,
they treated such practices as the spiritual cost of running a foreign pol-
icy. Like a witness to a formal contract, Attaleiates oversaw this ceremony,
keeping to himself any personal opinions as to the barbarity of Patzinak
customs.
Attaleiates’ rank and office also determined the material conditions
that marked his campaigning experience. For starters, he was surely
among the relatively well-quartered members of the army. His tent
would have been closely positioned to the imperial one, pitched along
the camp’s main “avenue,” the equivalent of the via principalis and the
via praetoria in the Roman camps of antiquity. This location was deter-
mined by the nature of military justice, which was highly visual, involv-
ing harsh forms of bodily punishment. Such shows of justice could
only take place at the most central place of the camp where the units
mustered. There was therefore an interesting parallel in the respective
positions of Attaleiates’ workspace in both civilian and army life. If the
covered Hippodrome and the velum were located in close proximity to
the imperial palace, his army assizes would similarly abut those of the
highest-ranking man in camp, in his case the Emperor Romanos.
Attaleiates’ privileged position offered unparalleled opportunities for

recording military events. An officer, involved in hour-to-hour micro-
managing of the army’s moves and battle details was all too often lost
in the fog of war. The judge was instead ideally poised for a detached
and yet appropriately proximate analysis of events. He no doubt relied
on warriors’ accounts for the details of a skirmish, yet from his pro-
tected vantage point at the camp he was also witness to the battlefield
arrayed before him. The advantages of such a position are plainly evi-
dent in the History’s account of Romanos’ campaign in Syria late in the
summer of 1068. As the army arrived in the vicinity of Hierapolis, the
emperor immediately set the Roman military machine to work. The city
was assaulted, even as troops busied themselves setting up camp. While
his coterie of servants and scribes were setting up his tent and offices,
Attaleiates was free to move around the camp and witness events as they
unfolded. He would have walked among soldiers digging the moat and
hammering stakes into the ground as they built up the palisade that had
been a staple of Roman camps from time immemorial. By the side of the
moat, he would have seen men walking like farmers sowing the furrows
of their land, only rather seeding the ground with caltrops to slow down
the advance of enemy infantry and cavalry. Fires were lit for soup kitch-
ens, smiths worked on weaponry, and army chemists carefully mixed the
ingredients of Greek fire for the trebuchets. In but a few hours, a pecu-
liar city of men took shape before the besieged town.
At a distance, Attaleiates could see formations of the empire’s Armenian
regiments approaching and then scaling the walls of Hierapolis. The judge
most likely entered that city alongside the emperor soon after its capitula-
tion to supervise the terms of surrender and coordinate with local author-
ities the dispensation of justice under new conditions of occupation. He
likely stayed in Hierapolis when the emperor left in a hurry to relieve his
army, now under attack from an enemy relief column that issued out of
neighboring Aleppo. Once again, at a distance from the battle, this time
in the safe quarters of the captured town, he would have had a perfect
vista over this battlefield. After the emperor cleared the field of the enemy
forces, Attaleiates returned to the camp where he spent a tense night by
the soldiers and his staff of pen pushers. With enemy horsemen galoping
outside the encampment, everyone remained tense. Under an autumn sky,
the judge could no doubt hear the sounds of the night guard and the dis-
cussions of soldiers sitting around campfires, analyzing the events of yet
another day on campaign with the emperor of the Romans.19
148 D. KRALLIS
We should not imagine Attaleiates as a solitary civilian in a camp full

of pumped-up warriors. His friend Basileios Maleses was with him and so
were others like Eustratios Choirosphaktes, Basileios of the inkstand, and
Aristenos protasekretis, all members of the imperial chancellery traveling
with Romanos. When leading an army in person, the emperor attempted
to preserve a semblance of normalcy and keep effectively ruling from his
encampments the very same polity he sought to defend on the battle-
field. His tent was the headquarters of an army chief but also the mobile
court of the polity’s leader. In the various accounts of the Roman defeat
at Mantzikert, the looting of the imperial tent assumes a prominent posi-
tion because of the riches that passed in enemy hands when it was cap-
tured. The emperor’s camp was not just a tactical and strategic necessity
prescribed by military manuals. It was a reality of imperial power, itself a
technology of government. Within it, the emperor’s agents reconstituted
a semblance of the order that one expected to find at the imperial court
in Constantinople.20
Aspects of the imperial camp’s day-to-day operation may be par-
tially followed in Michael Psellos’ extensive correspondence. In the
course of 1068, when Attaleiates was in Anatolia, Psellos remained in
Constantinople away from the emperor. This complicated his attempts
to serve his friends by mobilizing connections at court. A series of let-
ters expose the difficulties of maintaining an effective patronage network
when at a distance from his associates, friends, and the emperor. During
his days in the camp, Attaleiates surely saw letters delivered to his fellow
courtiers that bore Psellos’ seal. The protasekretis Aristenos, the epi ton
deeseon and Eustratios Choirosphaktes, as well as some anonymous krites
likely serving in Kappadokia all received letters from Psellos regarding a
dispute that had arisen between the bishops of Gordiason and Matiane.
The geographical parameters of this correspondence are telling. Two
church prelates, one located in distant Georgia by the Caucasus and
the other in Kappadokia, were at loggerheads regarding some obscure
issue we know nothing about. Psellos, who was a friend of the bishop
of Gordiason, tried to use his connections at court to effect reconcilia-
tion between the two men. Yet mobilizing men and resources from a dis-
tance, when some of those people kept changing their location, was far
from easy. Eleventh-century Romanía was an empire of mule tracks and
ancient Roman roads. Psellos therefore entrusted his letters to men who
traveled in the general direction of the moving army hoping that they
would deliver his correspondence and evoke a response. Often he faced
silence and imagined his friend putting forward all sorts of excuses for
not writing, when in fact the realities of campaigning were by no means
conducive to active communication.21
Psellos’ ceaseless efforts to stay in touch with his associates require us
to rethink surviving accounts of Seljuq invasions and our assumptions
regarding the effects of warfare on local communities. While Attaleiates
was right to sense crisis in the increasing inability of the polity to defend
its frontiers and stop the incursions of Seljuq flying columns, and while
it is undeniable that Romanos was under pressure to produce tangible
results on the field and restore the prestige of Byzantine arms, the enemy
raids had not completely disrupted life in the provinces at the time, this
was to happen in the 1070s. As we saw above, at a time of war, Psellos
was still engaged in dealing with problems of peace. The crisis, which
brought about the rise of Romanos was real, but the Seljuq threat needs
to be reassessed and put in context. In those same lands roamed by
Romanos’ army in search of the Turkish flying columns, life went on,
admittedly with disruptions, yet following patterns of adaptation that in
centuries past had seen the polity through the relentless yearly raids of
the Caliphate’s armies.
What is more, the presence of the imperial army in the provinces
promoted the notion that the emperor and his government were more
than defenders of the realm. Romanos’ mobile court, with Attaleiates
and no doubt others as experienced judges in its ranks, brought dis-
tant Constantinople’s representatives to the people. When mercenar-
ies from the imperial army maltreated members of the local population,
they could no longer hide behind the numbers and brawn of their fel-
low warriors. The emperor’s soldiers were subject to Roman justice and
the people now enjoyed the emperor’s protection. The eleventh century
had seen earlier attempts by the government in Constantinople better to
serve the people. In the 1040s, Konstantinos Monomachos created the
Office for Judicial Verdicts as a position entrusted with the supervision of
provincial justice. Under Romanos, Monomachos’ attempt to bring his
administration close to his subjects was taken a step further as the impe-
rial camp, with the traveling branches of the Constantinopolitan sekreta,
visited the provinces. In his discussion of Nikephoros Botaneiates,
an emperor he started serving seven years after Romanos’ demise,
Attaleiates noted intriguingly that having examined provincial legal
records he could find nothing in them that would blot the name of his
new patron.22 The statement is obviously rhetorical and encomiastic in
150 D. KRALLIS
texture but suggests, that in his travels around Anatolia on the side of
Romanos Attaleiates performed duties akin to those normally attributed
to the head of the Office for Judicial Verdicts. He had attended provin-
cial courts, had heard ordinary, even humdrum, cases at a local level, and
directly interacted with Roman citizens in Asia Minor. He was krites tou
stratopedou (judge of the camp) but when the camp housed the emper-
or’s court it was inevitable that his duties would involve more than dere-
liction of military duty.
The camp’s function as a mobile court is confirmed by Attaleiates’
accounts of Romanos’ recruitment of new soldiers in the ranks of the
army during the 1068 campaign season. The Romans did not sim-
ply press-gang peasants into the army. They rather attracted them
to the military rolls with titles, gifts, and the allure of regular salary.
Before Attaleiates published the History, Michael Psellos noted in his
Chronographia that Roman rule was based on titles, dignities, and the
capacity to raise taxes.23 Unlike Medieval European polities in the West,
Medieval Romans could rely on effective tax collecting for the support of
the army. In the spring of 1068, coin collected from many myriad house-
holds around the empire found its way into the empire’s war chests,
whence it reached the hands of young men eager to serve the father-
land for a price. Romans, however, were not the only warriors serving
the empire. Coin and treasure also linked the emperor and his staff to
the empire’s foreign helpers, the increasingly important mercenaries
recruited from beyond the empire’s frontiers.24
The Army Makes You Roman

In the late 1060s when Attaleiates first served as army judge under
Romanos Diogenes, numerous foreigners fought in the ranks of
Romanía’s armies. Attaleiates’ contemporaries did not always welcome
their presence. The retired general Kekaumenos, who wrote less than
a decade later, in fact explains that while foreigners should be used,
they should not be offered positions surpassing those of the Romans.
Ironically, Kekaumenos’ Romanitas was of recent issue.25 Like a hyphen-
ated American, he proudly touted his ancestors’ non-Roman origins
in his peculiar work on strategy, life, politics, and survival among the
Romans. Attaleiates, unlike Kekaumenos, held rather liberal, if at times
contradictory, opinions regarding the use of foreign troops. His writ-
ing, in fact, indicates that he may well have represented the more openly
integrationist side of a debate regarding the role of newcomers in the

army and by extension the Roman body politic.
Our scholarly response to the empire’s use of foreign mercenaries has
been more or less negative. The twentieth century was marked by total
wars during which nations clashed on the world scene and shed blood
for the defense of their territories. The armies deployed in those con-
flicts were made up of citizen recruits in the tradition of the French
revolution. In a time of nationalism, the use of mercenaries spoke of
corruption, placid patriotism, and lack of dedication to the homeland.
Alternatively, mercenaries reminded a war-weary academia of colonial
enterprises. Even early in the twenty-first century, the rise of Blackwater’s
private armies, with their world reach and lucrative Pentagon contracts
makes it hard to approach the issue in unbiased fashion. While the twen-
tieth century may indeed be partly responsible for this attitude, we
may have to look back to the eighteenth century and Edward Gibbon,
a founding father of modern Byzantinism, for the original connection
between mercenaries and corruption. A consummate classicist writ-
ing at a time when England’s mercenary regiments were about to face
America’s citizen militias, Gibbon saw mercenaries as the beginning of
Rome’s decline. The virtuous republic collapsed under the weight of
its prosperity, when wealthy Romans lost interest in the defense of the
realm, relegating the task to a class of professional soldiers. The noble
citizen soldier was therefore replaced by the cold-blooded killer that was
the mercenary, the idealistic and patriotic defender of the republic by the
supporter of despotism.
With these ideas dominant in our historical subconscious Byzantinists
have looked at the eleventh century as an era echoing more or less the
failures of the late republic. Success corrupted the ascetic warrior ideal
of Nikephoros I Phokas and Basileios II. Mercenaries replaced the
peasant-warriors of the themes, foreigners, with no connection to the
land took over the defenses of the realm from the sturdy patriots, who
had braved the Islamic onslaught of the seventh and eighth centuries.
This is indeed a comfortable romantic idea, in accordance with mod-
ern notions of patriotism and ethnic purity. It is perhaps not surprising
that it has little to do with what Romans thought about this issue in the
Middle Ages. Attaleiates for one shared none of our assumptions when
he thought about the empire’s defense. He had no notion of a purely
Roman army as military panacea for all of the empire’s troubles in the
battlefield.
152 D. KRALLIS
When writing on the empire’s relationship with the “Latin” and, to

put it more accurately, the Norman mercenaries in its employ, Attaleiates
offers a current, up to date commentary on an important aspect of con-
temporary political, social, and military life. His reflections were no aca-
demic musings. They were targeted interventions in a debate, his mark
on the empire’s public discourse. In the very first pages of his work,
Attaleiates raises the question of the relationship between the Roman
polity and those on its margins. Writing of the empire’s position in
Southern Italy, he notes that as a result of the arrogance and insulting
behavior of the governor, the Doux Michael Dokeianos, the Albans and
the Latins, “who inhabit the areas beyond western Rome and had once
been our allies and members of our commonwealth, while also sharing
the same religion,” now became the empire’s committed enemies.26
This conception of Byzantine Southern Italy as a commonwealth is per-
haps surprising. The Albans and Latins of Attaleiates’ narrative are in
fact the Normans and the local Latinate populations. The ancient names
deployed here by the History describe populations existing on the mar-
gins of the Roman polity. In this Constantinopolitan’s mind, these out-
siders were in fact natural members of a Roman commonwealth. They
were people whom bad governance pushed away from the natural pull
of New Rome. These Latin-speakers, whom we normally associate with
a world hostile to Romanía, are treated in the History as participants in
a larger Roman body politic. Less than twenty years after the so-called
schism of 1054 with the accusations of heresy and heathenism that
temporarily stained the relationship between the eastern and western
Churches, Attaleiates still treated the Latins of Southern Italy as mem-
bers of a shared political and religious community.
The judge then, who wrote some twenty years before the Crusades,
felt that the actions of one imperial agent had undermined the empire’s
position in Italy. Only as a result of unfortunate management had the
Normans—soon to become the empire’s nemesis—slowly dismantled
Byzantine authority in the west. And yet, Attaleiates was convinced
that the Roman polity still shared common ground with the new mas-
ters of Southern Italy. His position was not necessarily popular at the
time. As people tried to explain the defeat at Mantzikert, the Normans
serving under the condottiere Rouselios proved a convenient scapegoat.
According to some, the Norman warrior’s decision to sit out the battle
led to the defeat of the Romans. Attaleiates did not accept this line of
argument. He did not place the blame on Rouselios, readily recognizing
that the Norman and other contingents from the Latin west proved,
more often than not, loyal and effective. When they rebelled, the rea-
sons for their actions could invariably be put down to Roman perfidy and
misbehavior.
The first westerner to make his mark in the History fought, much like
Rouselios had, in the eastern front. In 1054, the year when Keroularios
issued his explosive aphorisms of the western Church that mark what
in later times came to be known as the “schism” between the Catholic
and Orthodox Churches, the Seljuq sultan Togrul Beg was campaign-
ing in the empire’s Armenian territories, in the vicinity of Mantzikert.
The defender of Mantzikert, Basileios Apokapes, had a contingent of
Latin mercenaries under his command. Despite their spirited fighting,
the defenders of the city faced a tough battle that was made more diffi-
cult by an enormous siege engine deployed by Togrul’s Seljuq troops. As
heavy projectiles kept crashing on the city walls, a Norman soldier whose
name history does not record saved the city by executing a daring oper-
ation that set the siege engine ablaze with a Greek-fire hand-grenade.
Attaleiates summarized these events by putting words in the Sultan’s
mouth and noting that after the destruction of his powerful siege engine
the Seljuq leader berated his troops for having looked down on the
Romans when they had, in fact, proven brave. In the eyes of the Sultan,
but in reality in Attaleiates’ own mind, this westerner was not to be dis-
tinguished from the Romans themselves.27
Attaleiates’ frustration with the failure of Roman authorities to prop-
erly reward good warriors does not end with Rouselios. A few years prior
to Rouselios’ rebellion, another Norman drew the attention of Roman
authorities. In the spring of 1069, the emperor took to the campaign
trail as news reached him of Crispin’s rebellion. This Norman condottiere
and his band of warriors had joined the Romans in their struggle against
the Seljuq Turks and at the end of 1068 had been sent to winter in Asia
Minor. In the cold windy days of Anatolia’s winter, Crispin rebelled, no
doubt feeling that the emperor had failed to reward him adequately for
his services. Once more, Attaleiates’ reaction to this event exposes his
openness to self-critique. The judge could easily have deployed the stere-
otypical image of the voracious barbarian coveting Roman wealth in the
pages of the History.28 The notion had, after all, royal pedigree as in the
tenth-century Emperor Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos suggested
that offering gold to barbarians would only wet their appetites and
lead to further onerous demands.29 In the twelfth century, the princess
154 D. KRALLIS
Anna Komnene noted that her father Alexios dreaded the arrival of the
Crusaders because he knew of “their uncontrollable passion, their erratic
character and their unpredictability.” He feared that combined with their
greed these characteristics would make them unreliable allies.30
But a few years after Attaleiates’ death, in the Komnenian period, the
notion of Latin cupidity had already become a prism through which to
view the Western world. Yet, Attaleiates set aside such stereotypes and
approached Crispin’s rebellion without prejudice. Crispin had only
attacked tax collectors and had killed no Romans. No attempt is made in
the History to contest the idea that the Latin brave was treated dishon-
orably, an indication perhaps that there was something to the notion that
Crispin had been offered less than what he was worth. Attaleiates then
notes that the Norman had defeated numerous Romans sent against him
including the general Alousianos, ironically a recently naturalized Roman
of Bulgarian extraction. The latter chose to attack Crispin’s encampment
on Easter Sunday, when such attack was not anticipated. A Thucydidean
turn in Attaleiates’ narrative gets the reader to witness Crispin’s victo-
ry-harangue to his troops. Much like the Greek historian’s famous
speeches, the words Attaleiates puts in the Norman’s mouth are those
he felt were best suited to the circumstances. They are also, perhaps, an
expression of the judge’s own opinion on the matter. Crispin’s argument
was simple and potent: The Romans attempted to kill fellow Christians
on that most holy day and they were now punished for their impiety.
Roman failure was doubly perfidious as it involved action against other
Christians. As in his earlier account of Dokeianos’ arrogance toward
the Albans and the Latins of Southern Italy, Attaleiates emphasized the
Normans’ Christian faith, thus foregrounding what they shared with the
Romans.
Romanos campaigned in person against Crispin who lowered the
standard of rebellion, surrendering to the emperor, and offering him
his services. Romanos was in a generous mood and gladly reintegrated
a worthy warrior into his army. Attaleiates had every reason to think
that this Norman “wild horse” could be harnessed to the imperial char-
iot and offer his services to the polity. Yet, detractors in the camp from
among the German palace guards lobbied effectively against Crispin
who was now arrested.31 Along these German calumnies, there were
others by men who argued that being a “Frank” he could not be trust-
ed—“Franks” known to be faithless by nature. Attaleiates, reports this
information, while maintaining a distance from it. He was present at
the camp when Crispin appeared before the emperor seeking pardon.
He had himself only recently been promoted to the rank of patrikios
by Romanos and was for a second year in a row serving as army judge.
Given his office and rank, he most likely personally interacted with the
Norman warrior. He was also well placed to be apprised of the accusa-
tions leveled against Crispin and was equally well informed about the
Norman’s reputation as an effective defender of Roman lands.
At a later stage, Crispin repaid the emperor for his lack of trust by
joining forces loyal to Michael Doukas. He was recalled from his place of
exile at Abydos, where he had been confined by Romanos and sided with
his enemies after being offered gifts, honors, and a prominent place in
the army high command. Crispin, at this stage, proved to be Romanos’
undoing successfully calling to his side all those Normans, who earlier
on, attracted by Romanos’ martial reputation, had joined him with the
expectation that he would emerge victorious in the Roman civil war.
Attaleiates’ account of these events is charged and sentimental. In it,
he reserves plenty of venom for Michael VII’s administration for their
shameful treatment of the heroic emperor. And yet, at the same time,
his emphasis on Romanos’ earlier maltreatment of Crispin is an indica-
tion that to his mind there was a direct link between Roman troubles
and their failure to justly manage those Normans seeking service in the
empire.
Attaleiates’ personal experience of Crispin and his analysis of this
Norman’s career indicate that there was no such thing as a uniform
response to Western entrants in the Roman order. The story of another
Norman, however, as recounted in the History better reveals Attaleiates’
opinions regarding the place of the Normans in Romanía. Rouselios
had served next to Robert Guiscard in Southern Italy in the Norman
leader’s wars against the empire. In the early sixties, however, he trav-
eled east and joined the Romans, fighting along them for years before
Romanos’ rise to the throne. His heroics in the service of the empire
provide a window into the author’s views about foreigners. Attaleiates in
fact dedicated more space to Rouselios’ campaigns against the Turks in
the province of the Armeniakon than he did to the exploits of his osten-
sible hero, Nikephoros Botaneiates. Attaleiates’ own relationship with
Rouselios likely developed on the campaign trail and the camp where his
role as military judge, dealing with disputes arising among soldiers, inev-
itably brought him into contact with this prominent leader of Romanos’
mercenary troops.
156 D. KRALLIS
Some time around 1074 the Norman who was popular with the
population of the Armeniakon province, whom he had been defend-
ing against Seljuq raids, broke into open rebellion against the authori-
ties in Constantinople. After two years of devastating warfare, Rouselios
was captured by Alexios Komnenos and sent to the capital. Attaleiates
noted about what followed that the emperor was bent on punishment.
He was unwilling to use the judicial process creatively and seek the bar-
barian’s reintegration into the polity. The judge in fact suggested that
two-step process starting with a harsh verdict to be followed by a display
of imperial mercy was a tried and tested way to achieve this very goal.32
Attaleiates and no doubt others at court like him thought that Rouselios
could have helped the empire hold on to its eastern provinces. That was
not to be. Rouselios was not offered this command. Instead, according
to the judge’s account, he languished in prison and the east was lost.
Attaleiates’ approving treatment of Rouselios’ career is somewhat
baffling, even if we take into account his positive assessment of Norman
and South Italian warriors in general. As a perceptive observer of Roman
affairs the judge surely knew, as modern readers of the period’s history
recognize, that Rouselios’ long rebellion and insubordination under-
mined Byzantine control of Asia Minor and facilitated the Seljuq con-
quest and subsequent settlement of Anatolia. What are we to make then
of his positive spin on Rouselios’ career? Attaleiates’ thinking begins to
make sense only when we take his earlier statements about other Latin
warriors seriously. If, like him we treat Rouselios not as a foreign scourge
of the Romans, but as a defender of their lands—nearly Roman himself—
the effects of his actions on the Roman body politic recede as a more
important theme emerges. Rouselios, like the Italians facing Dokeianos’
arrogance and like Crispin, insulted and maligned by jealous courtiers
and palace guards, is a friend of the Romans who faced the tyrannical
authority of a corrupt emperor. Attaleiates seems to suggest that while
Rouselios’ justified rebellion had not helped the empire, the Romans
could have avoided much of that trouble without Michael Doukas’
incompetent administration.
While one may correctly argue that Rouselios’ revolt offered the
Seljuqs greater opportunities for expansion in Roman lands, it is also true
that Rouselios’ rebellion had its roots in the special links he had created
with the province of Armeniakon and its people. Rouselios had in fact
acted as a defender of the province gaining the respect and support of
the local population, who saw in him an effective bulwark against the
Turks. He had settled his forces in a series of forts, highlighting his com-
mitment to a life of military service.33 His defense of the Romans not-
withstanding, Rouselios was certainly a foreigner. Attaleiates describes
him as such, and the reference to his ethnic origins makes it clear that
he had not yet been assimilated into Roman society. Yet in the eleventh
century the empire’s reliance on mercenary troops would have made it
increasingly difficult to neatly quarantine the state’s foreign defenders
from society. The citizens of Amaseia, for one, were happy to lend their
support to Rouselios for his rebellion against Michael VII. They saw no
problem in placing themselves under the protection of a non-Roman
warrior. Attaleiates then, much like the Amaseians, judges Rouselios on
account of his deeds. He was a brave man who had emerged victorious
from many battles. Members of the Roman elite clearly thought that he
had the potential to save Anatolia. Could a barbarian, however, offer a
solution to the empire’s problems?
That would really depend on one’s conception of barbarism. The
History records Attaleiates’ readiness to treat foreigners as parts of
Romanía’s social fabric, at a time when the regime of Michael Doukas
pursued a policy of matrimonial alliance with the leader of the Normans
of Southern Italy, Robert Guiscard. Attaleiates’ reference in the open-
ing page of the History to a commonwealth (isopoliteia) between the
Romans, on the one hand, and the Latins and Albans of southern Italy,
on the other, may therefore be a reflection of a generally positive atti-
tude toward westerners at the court in Constantinople. Like Attaleiates,
Michael Psellos, who was tasked with some aspects of those negotiations,
had in fact penned a work of history in which he provided the framework
for a more inclusive identity. Describing Emperor Trajan as a barbarian,
Psellos noted that the famed Roman statesman only became Roman
through his dedication to the Roman polity and his love of literature.34
The idea of a savior emerging from among the distant members of the
Roman commonwealth was apparently not so outlandish. Should we
then perhaps seek the preamble to the crusades in this rather liberal take
on identity and Romanness?
With an army of Romans and foreigners held together by the fiscal
might of the state, the emperor’s charisma, and his martial reputation,
Romanos ventured into Asia in 1068, in search of elusive and highly
destructive Seljuq flying columns. To Attaleiates, the patchwork of
nations that was this expeditionary force must have seemed like a reflec-
tion of the empire’s increasingly colorful ethnic quilt. As he assumed the
158 D. KRALLIS
tasks that came with his position in the army’s justice apparatus, he also
appears to have started taking notes on the events to follow. It is those
notes that give us a sense of the Roman army’s actions during the four
years of Romanos’ reign. To the army then and its activities in the field,
we now turn.
Notes
2. Attaleiates, History, p. 33, Bekker 20 on the eunuch commander, the
sebastophoros Stephanos Pergamenos, victor over Georgios Maniakes.
3. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis 1, pp. 100–1
(Chapter 17) weapons in church.
4. On Sylaion see TIB 8, pp. 396–401.
5. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis II, pp. 652–53
(Chapter 44) on this campaign.
6. Continuator of Theophanes VI. 29 in Ioannes Bekker (ed.), Theophanes
Continuatus, Ioannes Cameniata, Symeon Magister, Georgius Monachus
(Bonn, 1838), p. 452, line 20 to p. 453, line 19.
7. Cyril Mango and Roger Scott (trans.), The Chronicle of Theophanes the
Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern History AD 284–813 (Oxford:
Clarendon Press, 1997), p. 639.
8. TIB, p. 302, note 79.
9. Attaleiates, History, pp. 39–41, Bekker 23 on civilians manning the walls;
History, pp. 20–23, Bekker 14 on Constantinopolitans fighting the pre-
fect’s troops.
10. Attaleiates, History, p. 161, Bekker 88 on time counted on the basis of
the change of guard; Helen Ahrweiler, Byzance et la Mer: La Marine de
Guerre, la Politique et Les Institutions Maritimes de Byzance aux VIIe–XVe
Siècles (Paris, 1966), pp. 430–33 on the Constantinopolitan shipyards.
12. Gilbert Dagron, Constantinople imaginaire: etudes sur le recueil des Patria
(Paris: PUF, 1984), p. 85.
13. For such a prayer see Elizabeth Jeffreys’ translation as used by John Prior
in “Shipping and Seafarring,” in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine
Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 488.
15. Psellos, Chronographia, VII. 42 (Renaud, p. 110).
17. Mauropous, Orations 182 and 186 in Paul de Lagarde (ed.), Iohannis
Euchaitorum metropolitae Quae in codice vaticano graeco 676 supersunt
(Gottingen: Dieterich, 1882), pp. 142–47 and pp. 178–95 on peacemak-

ing and on defeating warlike and war loving rebels.
18. Attaleiates, History, p. 289, Bekker 159; Nicholas Mystikos, Letters,
pp. 312–3 letter 66 “for what is done by necessity is pardonable by
God…”; Samuel Hazzard Cross and Olgerd P. Sherbowitz-Wetzor (ed. and
trans.), The Russian Primary Chronicle: Laurentinian Text (Cambridge,
MA: The Medieval Academy of America, 1953), p. 65 on pagan oaths.
19. Attaleiates, History 205, Bekker 111 on the lay of the land around
Hierapolis.
20. Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos, De Ceremoniis 1, pp. 465–72 on
items carried for use in the emperor’s tent.
21. Marc Lauxtermann and Michael Jeffreys (ed.), The Letters of Psellos:
Cultural Networks and Historical Realities (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2017), pp. 238–39 on the relevant correspondence.
22. Attaleiates, History, p. 279, Bekker 153 on a soldier punished for harming
the people.
23. Attaleiates, History, p. 191, Bekker 104 gifts for recruitment; Psellos,
Chronographia, VI. 29 (Renaud, p. 132) on taxes and offices.
24. John F. Haldon, “L’armée au XIe siècle, quelques questions,” Travaux
et Mémoires 21.2 (Paris, 2017), pp. 581–92 with the latest review of the
army in the eleventh century and a return on the debate regarding the
role of mercenaries in it.
25. For Kekaumenos see Tsougkarakis, Κεκαυμένος, Στρατηγικόν, p. 251;
Charlotte Roueché’s online translation under VII. Advice to an Emperor
in the fourth paragraph for the text.
28. Attaleiates, History, p. 539, Bekker 280 a relatively rare (for Attaleiates)
image of inhumane barbarians.
29. Gyula Moravcsik (ed.) and R. J. H. Jenkins (trans.), Constantine
Porphyrogenitus: De Administrando Imperio (Washington, DC: Dumbarton
Oaks, 1967), pp. 45–46 for the proem and its account of voracious
barbarians.
30. Anna Komnene, Alexiad, p. 297, lines 5–11, translation in E. R. A.
Sweter revised with notes by Peter Frankopan, Anna Komnene: The
Alexiad (London: Penguin Books, 2009), pp. 274–75.
33. Attaleiates, History, pp. 363–65, Bekker 199 for Rouselios in the
Armeniakon, p. 339, Bekker 186 for Botaneiates.
34. Psellos, “Historia Syntomos,” in Michaelis Pselli Historia Syntomos, ed. and
trans. Jan Aerts (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1990), p. 21, lines 25–34.
CHAPTER 9
The Judge on Horseback:

The Empire at War
Even though Romanos Diogenes and his father Konstantinos before

him built their martial reputation as commanders of the empire’s
Balkans regiments, their family’s roots lay at the very heart of Anatolia
in Kappadokia, where they owned extensive lands. War with the Seljuqs
was therefore more than patriotic duty for this emperor. His patrimonial
estates, clients, and tenants were, in a way, the very same lands and peo-
ple afflicted by the Turkic raids into Asian Minor. In the spring of 1068,
when the recently crowned emperor left the capital for the East he did
not venture into a land unknown. His was to be a local hero’s homecom-
ing. As he moved South and East, Romanos carried on his shoulders the
hopes and expectations of the polity for victory and military success.
War, however, was more than a dance macabre of death, sorrow,
hopes, and aspirations; it was the stuff of planning, preparation, and
ceaseless toil. The emperor embarked on that task with gusto.1 When he
arrived at the Anatolikon province, Romanos issued orders for the assem-
bly of the empire’s troops in preparation for the upcoming campaign.
Attaleiates, who was in the camp as a member of the army’s legal affairs
team, was shocked by the spectacle unfolding before his eyes. Living and
working in Constantinople, the judge heard frequent reports of Roman
military failures in the years before Romanos’ reign, yet he was in no
way prepared for a direct encounter with the true scale of the problem.
All that a courtier living in the capital could imagine was that timid and
ineffective commanders lost battles. The generals in the provinces would

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_9
162 D. KRALLIS
at times complain about the lack of funding for their soldiers, yet those
complaints were easy to brush off as army prattle. Generals always com-
plained after all.2 Romanía’s army, as seen by the officialdom in the capi-
tal, was shiny, well armed, and gorgeous on parade. Yet, what the people
saw in Constantinople was the palace guard and imperial regiments, not
the soldiery of Asia. The realities on the ground were, it appears, dis-
heartening. Attaleiates was stunned to realize that the famed Roman
tagmata, the same troops that accompanied Isaakios Komnenos to the
capital after defeating the army of Emperor Michael VI, those soldiers
were now a pale reflection of their older valiant selves. Their pennons
were dirty from smoke and grime, while the men under the creaking
armor were demoralized and scarred from continuous defeats at the
hands of the enemy.3
The judge’s disappointment was amplified when those troops paraded
next to the seasoned and frequently victorious European regiments,
the men who had in the past fought under Romanos’ command in the
wars against the Patzinakoi. An empire famed for its Asian soldiery was
increasingly relying on European recruits and Norman, Scandinavian,
and Patzinak mercenaries. And yet, if it was disheartening to contem-
plate the demise of the empire’s eastern armies, that very contrast with
the forces of the West offered hope. Romanos, as Attaleiates records,
immediately mixed the more experienced Balkan warriors with the
demoralized Anatolians, seeking to impart a winner’s fighting spirit to
the cowed soldiers. The choice of mustering grounds itself for this activ-
ity was not accidental. The theme of the Anatolikoi was located north
and west of the passes leading to Syria on the Anatolian plateau, just west
of Romanos’ own lands in Kappadokia and Charsianon. The geomor-
phology of those provinces, a mix of rolling hills, limestone valleys, and
volcanic peaks had for centuries supported a rancher’s culture.4 This was
land that could feed cavalry without unduly burdening the locals and the
cities. It was in fact a land of few towns. At the same time, the assembly
of large forces dictated that the emperor built a solid logistical network,
as horse feed was not the only thing that kept an army moving.
Soon after the first muster, Romanos led his men east to Sebasteia,
which he turned into his center of operations. Attaleiates shows keen
geographical insight in explaining the situation faced by the Roman
forces. The enemy army, we are told, had divided into two, one col-
umn moving in from Armenia and another from Syria.5 By situating
his headquarters in Sebasteia on the valley of the River Halys, Romanos
9 THE JUDGE ON HORSEBACK: THE EMPIRE AT WAR 163
positioned himself at a nodal point on Anatolia’s road system, facilitating

moves toward any direction. Attaleiates was likely part of the consulta-
tions for these moves. In the History, he records at least one occasion
when the emperor called upon him to express his opinion and join dis-
cussions about strategy among his staff. He was no army man, yet he was
an integral part of the general staff.
From Sebasteia then, Romanos could follow the military roads to the
east toward Koloneia, Satala, and then by entering the northern branch
of the Euphrates move toward Theodosioupolis (Erzerum) and the
Araxes river valley. Alternatively, he could move southwards. The road
here branched in three different directions, two of those highways being
nearly equidistant. One led to Kappadokian Kaisareia, the main assembly
post of all Roman armies at the time, while the other led to Melitene in
Mesopotamia. A middle road led to Lykandos. In 1068, Romanos left the
defense of the northern frontier to his subordinates in order to person-
ally engage the Turkish threat on the Syrian front. Germanikeia was his
destination given the Syrian direction of his campaigning but easy contact
with forces in Melitene, the large fortified city on the Euphrates remained
essential. As things turned out, he was forced to temporarily abandon his
original plan and instead deal with the northern threat (Fig. 9.1).
Fig. 9.1 Map of Romanía’s Syrian, Mesopotamian, and Armenian frontiers

164 D. KRALLIS
A highly mobile Turkish flying column dashed toward Neokaisareia

and sacked the city carrying away booty and captives.6 Attaleiates
was with the emperor when the news of the Seljuq advance reached
the camp. Among Romanos’ supporters, it was clear that the sack of
Neokaisareia was a public relations disaster. Here was an emperor assert-
ing the idea that Roman arms could defend the polity and, despite all,
Turks still managed to wreak havoc on the empire’s cities. Under the cir-
cumstances, Romanos needed to rise to the challenge. He thus left the
infantry in Sebasteia with the young co-emperor Andronikos Doukas and
moved against the enemy with his cavalry alone. Attaleiates must have
stayed with Andronikos at the camp, as what followed was not for the
faint-hearted. While waiting in that city, he was no doubt able to appre-
ciate the degree to which the men around Andronikos were banking on
the emperor’s failure. In the History when discussing Roman failures,
Attaleiates noted that in his years of active service to different emper-
ors and in their courts, he rarely saw decisions taken with patriotic con-
siderations.7 His interaction with the circle of pro-Doukas courtiers
flanking Andronikos Doukas in Sebasteia would have reinforced this
feeling.
Nevertheless, to the disappointment, perhaps, of the Doukas fac-
tion, the emperor returned victorious. Attaleiates, who surely sat
with Romanos and with the other members of his staff, collected the
details and wrote about the cavalry’s march through the mountains of
Tephrike. The Seljuqs retreating from Neokaisareia were laden with
booty and slowed by their captives. They thus stuck to the main mili-
tary roads, which would have taken them east-southeast on the road
to Satala via Nikopolis and then due east toward the northern branch
of the Euphrates. To intercept them on their way to the Euphrates,
the emperor would have led his troops East/Southeast from Sebasteia
through the defiles around Tephrike. Then, he likely moved via Zimara
toward Kamacha and Satala in order to flank them much as Attaleiates
suggested. Romanos’ move was successful, and the Turkish horde had to
abandon booty and captives while suffering heavy casualties. The emper-
or’s march, which likely covered more than 200 kilometers in but a few
days, relied on speed as well as proper use of the terrain and the restric-
tions that it imposed on the enemy force. One is tempted to assume that
among the troops that followed him there would have been Patzinak
horsemen ideally suited for lightning expeditions like this one. Yet there
were also Roman troops with him. Romanos sought to revive the skill of
border warfare and mountain pass defense that the Emperor Nikephoros
Phokas had warned against losing when he wrote his manual on gue-
rilla warfare in the tenth century.8 When he returned to the camp in
Sebasteia, the emperor was likely able to silence his critics.
At Sebasteia, the emperor reunited the army and marched with the
infantry at his side and with all the disaffected Doukas partisans toward
Germanikeia by way of difficult mountain passes.9 The march took place
in the month of October, when the weather was already turning crisp
in the Anatolian plateau. By moving south, the emperor extended the
campaigning period leading the army into the warmer climes of Syria and
keeping Attaleiates, the courtiers traveling with him, and all the soldiers
away from their families for longer than they had likely anticipated at the
onset of the campaign. On his way to Germanikeia, or possibly before
his arrival in the city’s environs, Romanos detached a part of his army
and sent it east toward Melitene. Attaleiates records that the move aimed
to reinforce the commander of the city against Turkish forces lurking
in its vicinity. It is conceivable that given his intention to move against
Hierapolis (Mambij), Romanos wished to guarantee that no substantial
enemy force could move against him from the east.
The presence of strong forces in Melitene blocked one of the ancient
invasion routes into Anatolia. Such a force could also prove a deter-
rent for Seljuq relief columns moving on the Amida-Samosata road on
the way to Hierapolis. These troops, including a strong contingent of
Normans, were placed under the command of a general who did not,
ultimately, prove worthy of the emperor’s trust and put the whole army
in jeopardy.10 To Attaleiates it was becoming evident from the early
stages of the campaign that the emperor had a firm grasp on the strate-
gic problems associated with operations close to and beyond the Roman
frontier. The moves of the Turkish flying columns and the Roman pre-
cautionary measures highlight the geographical unity of the Euphrates
frontier from Syria to Melitene. Attaleiates, however, makes it clear
from early on that only under the emperor’s leadership could the troops
be trusted to properly fulfill their duties on the battlefield. Without
him, even strong and seasoned contingents melted away before enemy
attacks.11
By the time the army reached Syria, milder autumn temperatures
would have made for comfortable soldiering. The judge seems to have
used at least some of his “down time” taking careful notes on the army’s
progress. The performance of the imperial troops outside Hierapolis as
166 D. KRALLIS
presented in the History effectively mirrored the actions of Roman expe-

ditionary forces that invaded Mesopotamia in the course of the tenth
century. These were surely heady days. To Attaleiates, Romanos must
have seemed like a worthy successor of Nikephoros Phokas and Georgios
Maniakes. For the first time in years, the imperial army was in the area
in force, bringing war to the enemy. On multiple occasions, the History
records the destruction of the Anatolia’s countryside in the years prior to
Romanos’ reign. After years of hurt and heartache, the Roman army was
at long-last victorious, properly supplied, and moving toward its target
with renewed confidence. Attaleiates himself records with satisfaction the
devastation of enemy land, the looting of their flocks, the taking of cap-
tives, and other forms of booty.
Given the opposition to Romanos at court, the propaganda value
of well-marshaled Roman campaigns in Syria and Mesopotamia was
immense. As Attaleiates notes in his work, the tenth-century warrior
Emperor Nikephoros Phokas captured Antioch, having also campaigned
around Melitene and other eastern cities.12 Nearly a century after these
victorious campaigns, Rome was once again showing the flag under
Romanos. In fact, contemporary encomiasts arguably drew inspiration
from poems and songs written about Nikephoros’ famous campaigns. In
them, the martial emperor fell upon the enemy like an avenging angel,
killing hundreds of thousands of Arabs.13 Foremost among the panegyr-
ists of the new conquering emperor, Michael Psellos treated Romanos
as a divinely appointed savior of the empire in a number of courtly ora-
tions.14 He had not been present in the campaign of 1068, yet Psellos
most likely collected information regarding Romanos’ exploits from both
the emperor’s detractors on the Doukas camp and from supporters like
Attaleiates and Maleses.
More than propaganda, however, was involved in Romanos’ Syrian
campaign. Attaleiates opens his account of operations in the area by
mentioning the Turkish raids in the vicinity of Antioch. He understood
that anyone seeking to block the invasion routes that led to Syria in
general and Antioch in particular had to consider the city of Hierapolis
as a target. Its proximity to the Euphrates and to two important cross-
ings over the river (Zeugma 50 miles to the north and Jisr Manbij in
the vicinity) turned it into the central node for any Roman strategy to
defend Syria. Furthermore, its conquest put effective pressure on Aleppo
potentially leading to its re-incorporation into a Roman sphere of
influence in the model of the protectorate established early in the elev-

enth century by Basileios II.15
The three-day march of the army from the vicinity of Aleppo to
Hierapolis was orderly and largely uneventful. The troops advanced under
constant surveillance and sporadic attack by enemy light cavalry. From his
position in the baggage train, along with the other civilians Attaleiates was
only able to see the dust clouds raised by the skirmishes of the Roman scouts
with the Turkish attackers. When the army reached Hierapolis, it struck
camp while select units of Armenian infantry instantly went about attacking
the city.16 Soon the city fell, furnishing the Romans with victuals and secure
lodgings. The captured and refortified Hierapolis remained under imperial
control for years after the disaster at Mantzikert, a tribute to Romanos’ solid
work in the area. Attaleiates may have in fact left his imprint here, helping to
lay down the roots of Roman justice in this newly conquered Syrian town.17
The campaign as described by the judge, who no doubt shared his
accounts with fellow courtiers, allowed his Constantinopolitan audience,
but also those provincials who benefited directly from the reassertion
of imperial authority in Syria, to draw important conclusions about the
performance of the Roman forces. Early on, when he first reached the
army’s muster station in Anatolia, Attaleiates had been shocked to wit-
ness the sorry state of the empire’s Asian regiments. In but a few months
with the army, by the side of the emperor, he witnessed the gradual
transformation of shy, demoralized soldiers into confident warriors. Day
by day, skirmish after skirmish, and battle upon battle, the army became
a more cohesive and effective fighting force. This was plain for everyone
to see in the orderly Roman retreat at the end of the campaign, when the
emperor led the Romans through the lands of the emir of Aleppo.18
The 1068 Syrian campaign brought Attaleiates tantalizingly close
to Antioch. After it was reintegrated in the empire during the reign of
Nikephoros Phokas, the famous metropolis provided a strong base for
operations in Palestine and Mesopotamia. Later in the tenth and early
in the eleventh century, when Basileios II imposed tribute on the
Emirate of Aleppo, Antioch became the empire’s gate to the orient
and the lands of the Caliphate. If Attaleiates had hoped to spend some
time in this fascinating, ethnically and denominationally diverse urban
center, he was never, as far as we know, given the opportunity. Fearing
that his army would exacerbate the city’s food supply problems at a
time when enemy activity in Syria was already making the provisioning
168 D. KRALLIS
of Antioch a challenging task, Romanos bypassed it. The decision was

sound. Some ten to fifteenth thousand soldiers, perhaps more, numer-
ous hungry beasts of burden, and thousands of warhorses constituted a
veritable and voracious city on the move. Recognizing the logistical chal-
lenges facing him, Romanos directed his “fighting city” toward the port
of Alexandretta, thus linking his troops to supplies from Kilikia.19 Here,
once again, after years of life in Constantinople, the judge was on the
waters of the Mediterranean. Looking at the horizon he felt, perhaps, a
little homesick.
From Alexandretta, Romanos led the army through Mopsuestia,
Adana, and Tarsos moving north through the Gates of Kilikia into
Anatolia’s wintry core. For Attaleiates, this crossing on the way to
Podandos was a harrowing personal experience. As soldiers lined some-
times in single file through the narrow passes, they faced ravines and
steep drops into what looked like a craggy abyss. Among them, following
on his horse Attaleiates carefully negotiated this daunting territory, eyes
no doubt on the precipice and nerves fully tensed. His horse afflicted
by what he diagnosed as intestinal disease and too weak to support its
rider was as dizzy as the judge himself. In the course of the army’s slow
progression through the mountain passes, the horse suddenly leaned
leftward pushing its rider off its back on the safe side of the pass only
to then collapse to the right diving deep into the ravine. At this precise
moment, Attaleiates became a spectacle. Used to his role as the fancily
dressed state official and aware of the scrutinizing eye of his fellow cour-
tiers, he immediately knew that he instantly became the star of a story
worth repeating.20 He surely sensed that the soldiers and fellow courtiers
riding next to him appreciated his handling of the horse, the fact that he
managed to land on his feet, the fact that he was still alive. The urban-
ite courtier had gained some army credibility in that one instance. He
was no longer the polite civilian, the armchair historian. Like his ancient
counterpart, the Greek historian Polybios, he could claim that he had
seen battle and had experienced the arduous conditions of the campaign
trail. One wonders if Attaleiates was in his mind attempting to outshine
Polybios, who had died as a result of a hunting accident, having sus-
tained heavy wounds after falling from his horse. Or was he perhaps play-
fully mocking Psellos, who had, after all, openly written about his fear of
horseback riding?21
Equestrian heroics aside, the entry into Anatolia of an army traveling
light and living off the land in the month of December was bound to
expose both soldiers as well as the population of the areas they traversed
to privations. Romanos had conformed in Syria to Roman ideals of proper
royal behavior and had been reluctant to impose the burden of his army
on the civilian population, yet in the process soldiers, camp attendants,
and beasts of burden suffered from the cold and from the dearth of sup-
plies.22 As the tired warriors disbanded, Attaleiates with his small posse
of secretaries and retainers took the military road to the capital alongside
the imperial train. By late January, Romanos entered the capital with sto-
ries of heroism, success, and, significantly, victory. In the fierce battle for
public opinion that marked Romanía’s politics, his detractors developed
an opposing narrative that spoke of an enemy difficult to pin down and
of futile, inconclusive battles. For the moment, however, Romanos and
his generals were in a position to court the capital, the courtiers, and the
population at large, spreading encouraging news of a newly active Roman
army. As for Attaleiates, he was among those building-up Romanos’ vic-
tories, shooting back at detractors with lively eyewitness accounts of the
emperor’s campaigning. He no doubt also noted that after the end of the
Syrian campaign everyone finally knew that the Romans, led by an active
emperor, could successfully engage the enemy. The period of Roman
indolence and martial humiliation that began in the days of Emperor
Konstantinos X Doukas was finally drawing to a close.
Back in the capital, Attaleiates returned to his family, saw his son, and
must have recounted his experiences to the growing young man who
would one day succeed him at court. It appears that after this first year
of campaigning he had hoped to be left to his own devices. He was not
ready to abandon his home, the high courts, and the comfort of urban
sociability for yet another year in the field. Furthermore, Easter was
approaching, a time when emperors presided over important ceremonies
that marked their position at the center of the imperial network of patron-
age. This was the time when the court was called into the emperor’s pres-
ence for a daylong event during which the leader of the Roman polity
paid out in person the annual salaries of the empire’s ruling class. In a
ceremony, that stressed the emperor’s personal relationship with the mem-
bers of his administration and the governing class as a whole, Romanos
was expected to shed his military attire to don the imperial chlamys that
conspicuously marked his place at the pinnacle of Roman society.
This, however, was not to pass. As spring came to the capital and the
court was gearing up toward this grand ceremony, Attaleiates crossed
the Hellespont in order to join the emperor at the palace of Hieria on
170 D. KRALLIS
the Asian shore. In the five-hundred-year-old building of Justinian’s

time, Romanos was already planning his next campaign looking forward
to another year in the field. Coming to his presence, the judge had no
reason to expect that his services would be required on the campaign
trail for a second consecutive year. Yet, while he was with the emperor
at Hieria, news came of an uprising among the empire’s Norman merce-
naries. One of their leaders by the name of Crispin rose against Roman
authorities in Asia. Romanos’ first response was to mobilize five reg-
iments from the empire’s Balkan armies wintering at the time in the
Anatolikon theme.23 Their leader, Samuel Alousianos, a grandson of the
last king of Bulgaria and Romanos’ former brother-in-law, was, how-
ever, defeated by the Norman forcing the emperor to personally lead the
Romans against the rebel.
As the empire’s military machine sprung into action, Attaleiates
no doubt felt that it was time for him to return to the capital. It was
then, however, that orders came from the emperor for him to remain
with the army. The judge was dismayed and likely expressed his feelings
to Romanos, who did not, however, relent. Still, the emperor was not
going to demand service for nothing. He rewarded Attaleiates for his
loyalty, as well as for past and future service, by awarding him the title
of patrikios. As remarked earlier, this was a bittersweet moment for the
judge. He was steadily rising in the ranks, his salary as well as influence at
court increasing by the day, and yet he was to miss the opportunity of a
formal induction among the ranks of the empire’s patrikioi.
A few months later, early in the summer of 1069, at a place far
removed from the imperial palace, in the southeastern edge of the
Anatolian plateau, far from any signs of urban refinement, Attaleiates
now a patrikios joined the chiefs of staff. In the great imperial tent, at
the very center of the army’s encampment, members of the emperor’s
advisory panel were asked their opinions on the army’s future course
of action. During that meeting, the army officers and next to them
the ranking civilians following Romanos in his campaigns—people
like Michael Psellos, who admits to having been coerced to follow the
emperor in Asia—spoke against the idea of continued operations late
into the campaign season. The experience of the previous year when
emperor, army, and courtiers had remained in the field deep into the
winter months bore heavily on many among those standing before him.
After two short months of campaigning, courtiers and army brass were
already looking for an opportunity to leave for their homes in the capital
and the empire’s western provinces.
Romanos himself had every reason to return to Constantinople
despite his commitment to campaigning with the troops against the
enemy. Since his marriage to Eudokia, he had spent little time with
the empress and was keenly aware that there were people in Queen of
Cities—people from the empress’ own familial circle—who worked day
and night to undermine him. Here then, in the imperial tent, having
heard from the high-ranking officers and court officials, the emperor
turned to the judges. Attaleiates who was in attendance explains that his
colleagues aligned themselves with the general consensus; they wanted to
head back home. Among them, only he remained silent. The emperor,
who no doubt trusted him and had only recently awarded him the title
of patrikios, now sought his opinion. Attaleiates’ position was delicate.
His thoughts were bound to upset some of his fellow courtiers. Here
he was, in the minds of many no doubt an upstart, about to go against
the consensus reached by the empire’s best military and political minds.
Romanos felt that the silence was evidence that this courtier had some-
thing interesting to say and begged Attaleiates to speak up.
When he did so, Attaleiates no doubt introduced his argument with
lengthy disclaimers of courtly meekness.24 He then gave the emperor
and his advisors an analysis of the empire’s strategic and the army’s
tactical disposition—analysis, which should in fact have come from
the officers attending the meeting. He argued that it was too early in
the season for the emperor and the people around him to return to the
comfort of their homes in the capital. The words no doubt created a
stir. His argument was, however, compelling and was based on careful
observation of the army’s performance over the two campaigning sea-
sons that he had had the opportunity to closely follow. He therefore
convincingly argued that despite the army’s successes, the enemy had
not been defeated, remaining elusive beyond the empire’s frontier, ever
ready to strike back. In addition, he noted that while the army’s perfor-
mance was improving, it was only when the emperor was around that
the troops fought effectively and delivered the victories so badly needed
by the Romans. After two years of campaigns, the judge could point
to a number of occasions when the same troops commanded success-
fully by the emperor had been defeated once placed under one of his
subordinates.
172 D. KRALLIS
Attaleiates’ words no doubt hit a raw nerve. Samuel Alousianos, the

Romanized Bulgarian aristocrat entrusted but a month or two earlier
with the task of defeating Crispin, only to bungle the operation and be
captured by his prey, was probably present by Romanos’ side as the judge
developed his argument. Even as words flowed out of Attaleiates’ mouth
in the exact language of the trained jurist, memories of recent events
were kindled in the minds of those present. Everyone surely remem-
bered that only weeks before this meeting Romanos assumed command
of the troops, no longer trusting his subordinates, and led the army from
its muster station in Malangeia to Dorylaion, further to the South, in
the outer rim of the Anatolian plateau. In this town, Romanos received
ambassadors from the rebelled Norman who now sought pardon and
reintegration in the Byzantine forces.25
As the army moved past Kaisareia toward the fortified settlement of
Larissa, its commanders received information that a larger than usual
group of Turkmen had been ravaging the surrounding country. While
the troops that Romanos originally sent against them failed to stop their
raid, the emperor eventually caught up with the enemy. As he reached an
area suitable for an encampment, in the hubbub generated by thousands
of men busily preparing the fortified perimeter wherein to rest after a
long day, Turkish units were spotted in the neighboring hills. Attaleiates,
who had been in Romanos’ circle of commanders and camp-grandees
noted that the when emperor became aware of commotion in the camp
he immediately issued out of his tent leading those units of the army
available to him against the enemy.26 In what followed, the judge had
a rather limited perspective. Positioned at the middle of the camp along
with the rest of the non-combatants, he was well placed to observe the
commotion. He may have even seen the emperor rushing out of his tent,
girded in armor, on his way to battle. The details of the battle cannot,
however, but have been relayed to him after the end of the affair. In the
evening after the end of operations, he no doubt sat next to the other
high-ranking courtiers and commanders of different units, possibly in the
presence of the emperor, listening to the account of the day.
According to the emperor and his fellow warriors, the regiments of
the Lykaonians and next to them some of the troops from the Balkans
had flanked the Turkish host forcing a retreat, which became more
precipitous as the emperor led against them the rest of the army. In
the course of the discussions, Attaleiates may have also learned that
the Patzinak mercenaries, soldiers brought from the Balkans, where
Romanos had been fighting them for years before he ever became
emperor, had played a role in hurrying the enemy during their frantic
backpedaling through winding passes. The mood must undoubtedly
have been joyous. The army had captured numerous prisoners among
whom a high-ranking Turkish commander. In addition to that, evidence
that the newly recruited Asian regiments of the Lykaonians had proved
their mettle in battle only added to Romanos’ reputation as a restorer
of Byzantine arms. Yet even in a moment of celebration people could
not ignore certain distressing signs. Attaleiates, who had remained in the
camp during the emperor’s pursuit of the enemy, most likely witnessed
the attack on the Roman fort by a hidden column of enemy cavalry
that did not engage the emperor. While in and of itself the event would
have been troubling for the non-combatants in the camp, the fact that
of the Roman troops, only the Norman mercenaries deigned to engage
the enemy was even more troublesome.27 Those moments were all too
recent for those present in Romanos’ tent to have forgotten but a few
weeks later.
While Attaleiates was surely more diplomatic in making his argument,
the implications of what he argued were clear. The emperor could not
expect that after his departure for the capital the army would hold its
ground against the Turkmen on its own. By the time his words were
uttered, the commanders of the regiments no doubt seethed with anger.
Yet, by arguing along these lines Attaleiates was proving to be an able
courtier. He was aware of both the dynamics of courtly etiquette and
the power of honor. No general, however unhappy with his words, was
going to dispute the emperor’s unique capacity to lead the troops, with-
out undermining his own position in the empire’s situation room. At the
same time, none of the courtiers, men like Psellos, seeking to maintain
their influence over the emperor, would go against a line of argument
which was no doubt pleasing for Romanos. For if Attaleiates understood
one thing well, it was that Romanos, despite his longing for more bed-
time leisure by the side of the empress, would rather spend his days in
the battlefield with his troops. As the poet Manasses put it in the twelfth
century, Romanos was no earth-eating worm living in the dark world of
the palace.28 He rather wished to be out and about exchanging blows
with the empire’s enemies.
Attaleiates’ exposé offered Romanos the opportunity to override the
consensus of advisors, generals, and courtiers. The judge, however, went
much further with his analysis. Instead of turning toward the comfort
174 D. KRALLIS
of the capital, he suggested that they march a few weeks due east, and
the area of Chliat in the vicinity of Lake Van. This was Armenian ter-
ritory, which for years had suffered from enemy raids. In fact, when
Attaleiates suggested that the army move east, the important forts of
Chliat and Mantzikert were already in Seljuq hands. Thus, with the eyes
of the chiefs of staff all fixed on him Attaleiates argued for a bold move
into Armenia. Forays into lands, which were at the time under foreign
occupation would place the Roman army into formally hostile territory
that the soldiers could loot with impunity thus reaping rich rewards. It
is clear from his argument that the judge recognized the positive effect
of enrichment through war on the troops’ morale. For an army, which
had been fighting in Roman territory, constrained to respect the locals,
whom they were after all supposed to defend, a venture into hostile terri-
tory was no doubt welcome development.
Yet, in Attaleiates’ eyes, the move east was mostly important for other
reasons. The fort of Chliat as well as others in the area controlled passes
of great strategic importance. Were Romanos to conquer them, he could
block important invasion routes used by Turkmen, and thus justifiably
claim that he was indeed improving conditions on the ground. By the
time the campaign would be over, the Roman army would have garrisons
in the Armenian forts and winter would make further Turkish invasions
difficult. Romanos could then return to the capital victorious with the
army’s moral boosted by continued successes. To the generals present
in the emperor’s tent, Attaleiates’ words must certainly sounded as inso-
lence. Who was this civilian telling them what to do? Romanos, how-
ever, was convinced that this was the appropriate course of action and
prepared his soldiers for the march due east.
What followed is certainly confusing. The emperor gave the relevant
orders for the renewed eastward march, and we have letters by Psellos
recording the army’s slow progress up and down steep ravines in cold
temperatures and harsh conditions.29 Yet eventually Romanos turned
the army around abandoning Attaleiates’ plan. It may be that it was sim-
ply unrealistic. Laying siege on well-fortified enemy positions required
meticulous preparation, and while Attaleiates’ thinking may have been
sound in grand strategic terms, it was likely impossible to implement
tactically just yet. Abandoning the march toward Romanopolis, whence
a turn toward Chliat was possible, the emperor indicated a change of
course. The army was to be divided into two. Romanos entrusted half
to a commander by the name of Philaretos and kept the rest under
his command. As he sought cooler climes by the foothills of Mount

Moutzouros in the North, the emperor left behind him forces, which he
hoped would adequately deal with any Seljuq threat.
To his consternation and in line with Attaleiates’ predictions, those
units were attacked by the Seljuqs and, fighting without the emperor in
their midst, were soundly defeated. Romanos remained in camp for a few
days to collect defeated stragglers, treat the wounded, and run a mili-
tary tribunal that was to apportion blame on the commanders responsi-
ble for the defeat. Attaleiates was a member of the court and the History
records what reads like the crown’s opinion in which the judge berates
the generals for their lack of foresight, openly stating that they could not
be entrusted with any command in the absence of the emperor.30 The
air was tense in the camp as Attaleiates walked among the wounded and
the dying. It was not his first campaign yet the gruesome reality of war
must have been overwhelming. Soldiers lay on their mats with all man-
ner of trauma from swords, javelins, lances, and, more often than not,
arrows. While Roman armies were well staffed with medical corpsmen
sometimes trained in the treatment of trauma, provisions for wounded
soldiers were far from ideal. These men while experienced were not nec-
essarily trained doctors. According to military manuals, a general had to
select eight or ten of the less martial soldiers from each tagma of 300
for medical duties.31 Years of service turned some of those soldiers into
competent nurses with experience in the treatment of war-wounds, and
yet no man seriously injured could count on being saved. When look-
ing at the twelfth-century charter from the imperial pious foundation of
Christ Pantokrator in Constantinople, we are impressed by the emphasis
on cleanliness, frequent change of gauzes and bedsheets and the diligent
care offered to the sick in this well-funded monastery. In the field, how-
ever, Attaleiates and the rest of the army faced a rather different real-
ity. As effectively as the army medical corps may have been organized by
medieval standards, conditions here were always going to be challenging.
Significantly, the numbers of the wounded would have been daunting as
the camp’s doctors strove to treat the equivalent of a few overcrowded
emergency rooms in the middle of rural Anatolia.
Attaleiates’ position at court surely brought him into direct contact
with wounded soldiers, who needed someone to act as a witness to their
last wishes or help draw up a will, as they contemplated the future of
their families without them. Once in his tent after an emotionally drain-
ing day among the hundreds of wounded men, the judge could converse
176 D. KRALLIS
with his fellow bureaucrats about the bloody tableau they had witnessed.
It is even conceivable that some of them would have taken part in med-
ical procedures in the course of the campaign. Michael Psellos, who in
1069 joined the emperor on the campaign trail, boasted of his medical
knowledge, lectured on diverse medical subjects, and even wrote treatises
on medicine.32 Such a man could very easily have been put on the spot
in similar conditions, forced to display some of his skills on a soldier’s
injuries.
Certain as Attaleiates’ exposure to gory images of pain and death may
have been, we have no actual written evidence on his part that would
record the effects of such an experience on him. In writing his history he
chose to hover above the minutiae of pain and trauma and rather focus
on the larger picture, the one invoking an ancient and mighty empire
creaking before the attacks of a determined enemy. Immunized as we
are from similar images, by a government’s censorship of the reality of
war, we cannot but marvel at Attaleiates’ capacity to process the vio-
lence and devastation of war and portray it in almost pedestrian fashion.
Nevertheless, sane as his account may appear, he was no doubt afflicted
by everything he saw around him.
At the end of a number of emotionally draining days in camp, deliber-
ations followed, in the course of which the emperor declared his decision
to turn toward Mesopotamia, where he felt his presence was required.
Less shy this time, Attaleiates raised his voice and addressed Romanos
telling him that a campaign toward already ravaged territory was point-
less. He instead advocated a return to the empire’s heartland, where the
emperor could dedicate himself to the defense of towns and villages that
had not yet been ravaged. It was not time for him to play doctor to his
wounded subjects. He instead needed to ensure the health of those who
were still untouched by enemy raids. The city of Ikonion with its rich
environs was apparently under threat and the emperor was asked to act.
Romanos accepted the wisdom behind Attaleiates’ advice and moved
his forces toward Ikonion, not before, however, the Turks sacked that
prosperous Anatolian town. What followed was a series of well planned
but imperfectly executed attempts at coordinating the Roman forces
that were supposed to stop the retreating Seljuq column. Once again,
Attaleiates was proven right that the Romans would not perform unless
the emperor was with them. As the end of the season approached, the
judge followed the army back to the capital after a year of mixed results
in the field. The imperial host was increasingly effective when properly
led, the empire, however, was still woefully unprepared for the mul-
ti-pronged Seljuq invasions. The troops’ performance under Romanos
was improving, and yet their ability to independently engage the enemy
was still where it had been when Attaleiates first cast his eyes upon the
Asian regiments in Romanos’ muster roll call.
In Constantinople, Attaleiates reconnected with his family and likely
joined the emperor for further consultations. This coming year Romanos
was to spend time in the capital strengthening his links with the civilian
administration. Yet, behind Romanos’ decision to entrust the command
of the army to his subordinates lay more than a need to coddle with his
wife’s family. Ever since he had assumed the throne, two years had lapsed
and he had only spent a few months by Eudokia’s side. The empress had
been his key to power and, feelings aside, he had every reason to spend
time with her in the palace and affirm his affection. Furthermore, this
was an opportunity to lobby and win over to his side important aristo-
crats and other powerful officials, while keeping a watchful eye on her
relatives and the Doukas clan, still unhappy with their role on the side-
lines of courtly politics. Alas, his sabbatical from the toils of war came at
a high price to the empire. Romanos’ heart was in the battlefields, and
the news from Anatolia during his stay in the capital constantly reminded
him of his duties. Even sympathetic historians like Attaleiates note that
the emperor felt envious of the commanders he left in his shoes. In the
palace corridors, there were rumors that Manuel Komnenos who was
defeated by the Turks only failed because the emperor halved his forces
fearing that the young aristocrat would succeed where he had failed to
produce decisive results.33 Whatever the causes of Manuel’s failure,
however, Attaleiates’ predictions were once more shown to be painfully
accurate. With the emperor in the capital, the Turkmen proved deadly
effective in their war against Rome.
With the gloom of defeat hanging over the society of courtiers and
officials, it was no small surprise that the defeated Manuel Komnenos
convinced his Seljuq captor to betray his compatriots and join the
Roman emperor in Constantinople. Given the disheartening news of
Komnenos’ earlier defeat, this event was duly celebrated in the capital.
Manuel hosted his barbarian guest at his urban estate, offering him lav-
ish entertainment of a kind the Seljuq may not have encountered before.
Romanos bid his time and, after a few days, convened the entire sen-
ate early in the morning, at the moment when the sun was rising. The
hall selected for this event was the Chrysotriklinos, by now more than
178 D. KRALLIS
four centuries old, a relic of late antiquity that impressed upon the vis-
itor the empire’s longevity and venerable roots. The tableau of imperial
pomp put on display for the sake of the visiting Seljuq spoke of power
and wealth. The walk itself to the Chrysotriklinos would have taken him
through the labyrinthine palace grounds to the neighboring Kainourgion
hall with its mosaic depictions of notable Roman victories of centuries
past. In the Chrysotriklinos itself, a powerful chiaroscuro accentuated the
glory of the emperor as rays of sun entered through a number of the six-
teen windows that studded the room’s eight sides, gradually illuminating
the hall with their reflections on gold mosaics and multicolored marble
revetments. Sat at the room’s apse, under an image of Christ enthroned,
a hint not too subtle about the emperor’s own role on earth, Romanos
was dressed in resplendent ceremonial clothing. Before him stood the
Roman Senate: the empire’s richest men, the ranks of the educated, the
influential, and the simply lucky.34
If the staging of the ceremony aimed to awe the Turk with Roman
glory and convince him that his fate lay with his new master, the pres-
ence of the steppe warrior amidst Constantinopolitan refinement was
in itself a message to the Roman viewer. Attaleiates does not fail to
remark on the ugly face and small stature of the man who had defeated
Manuel Komnenos. His account echoes similar images of barbarians vis-
iting European courts, dazzled by civilization’s refined tastes and in turn
reaffirming the host audiences’ feelings of superiority. On this occasion,
the senate witnessed the Turk’s submission to Romanos, while being
reminded that the aristocratic potential rival to the emperor, Manuel
Komnenos, had in fact lost a battle and his army to an ugly, short man.
As for Romanos, no doubt still toying with Attaleiates’ idea of a cam-
paign into the depths of Armenia, he could show his senate that the
enemy was barely human.
And yet, aesthetics and xenophobia notwithstanding, this ceremony
was a first stage toward the integration of a foreigner in the imperial
taxis. If the rebellious Crispin could be inducted in the Roman order,
then surely with some goodwill and a timely conversion one would
expect to see the Seljuq commander by the side of the emperor, a loyal
subject of the eternal Roman state. With high hopes then Romanos
embarked on his next task, which was to take him out of the ceremonial
robes and the palace and into the soldier’s armor and the din of battle.
He perhaps recognized that in the meeting of the chiefs of staff that had
taken place in Kappadokia the previous summer Attaleiates had proved
strategically astute. The emperor had felt unready to lead the army all
the way to Lake Van, yet Attaleiates was right to view Mantzikert and
Chliat as spigots that, once switched off, would stem the flow of inva-
sions from the eastern part of the empire. If that part of the frontier
were secured, the Romans could then turn to Melitene, one by one
blocking the avenues that allowed the enemy to raid the fatherland.
Plans had to be made then and resources mustered. Romanos knew, as
did Attaleiates, that Mantzikert was a formidable fort. Togrul Beg had
mobilized a large expeditionary force with a sizeable siege train contain-
ing a giant Trebuchet for his attack on it in 1054, and he had still failed.
The Roman army would have to be well supplied with victuals for a long
campaign in the east. And this time, Romanos would have to lead a force
strong enough to produce decisive results.
The empire was by all accounts facing a crisis, both fiscal and mili-
tary, and yet the planning for the campaign of 1071 was evidence of
the underlining vitality of the economy and society that shouldered the
costs of Romanos’ campaigning. The emperor and his advisors certainly
felt far more confident about the likely outcome of the campaign than
Herakleios, a famous Roman of times long past, would have dared feel
during the planning stages of his own great eastern wars against the
rampant kingdom of Persia. In many ways, Romanos’ bustling elev-
enth-century empire was much stronger, both fiscally and militarily than
the declining late-antique state Herakleios led to great victories over
the Persians in the seventh century. The Turkoman raiders were surely
destructive, and it was clear the Romans were having trouble engaging
them effectively, were they, however, an empire-busting threat? Where
they as potent as the Persian kingdom that nearly destroyed Rome at the
end of antiquity? Romanos had every reason to think not.
With confidence then, Romanos set the empire’s administrative and
military apparatus in motion. Experienced units from the Balkans were
once more ferried over to Asia Minor and with them came Patzinakoi,
Normans, Germans, and Italians all to join indigenous Anatolian regi-
ments. Muster areas in Asia Minor were ordered to stock-up with vict-
uals for Romanos’ campaign force. Romanos’ own estates in Kappadokia
were asked to prepare for the reception of the emperor, who would be
leading the army through his homeland. Even further to the east in
the vicinity of Theodosioupolis, the imperial post would have delivered
orders for the collection of supplies adequate for two months campaign-
ing. The whole of Anatolia surely buzzed with activity in the spring of
180 D. KRALLIS
1071 as resources were methodically stashed along military highways

for the army to use. Moreover, as the emperor was expected to reach
Theodosioupolis by harvest time, requisition papers were surely delivered
to the local authorities for the orderly harvesting and storage of what
were to become the army’s victuals.
By March 13, 1071, the emperor was already on the Asian shores of
the Bosporus on his way to the expeditionary force in Anatolia. During
his crossing, as he was no doubt taking in the cold breeze of an early
spring day on the deck of the imperial galley, a black pigeon landed on
his arms. This no doubt surprised the men around him. At the beginning
of an important and dangerous operation, people’s nerves were frayed.
Everyone was anxiously looking for signs that would reveal the future.
Writing a few years after this campaign, Attaleiates notes that the imperial
entourage went in interpretative frenzy. Everyone agreed this had been
a sign of important events to come, not a very risky assessment to be
fair, given that the emperor was on his way to joining the largest Roman
campaign army to have been assembled in decades. People disagreed,
however, as to the import of the sign; was it good or bad? The emperor
appeared nonplused and sent the bird to the empress, who in turn
deemed it an auspicious sign. Eudokia had for a while been unhappy
with Romanos and Attaleiates had picked up palace gossip that spoke of
tensions in the imperial bedchamber. Yet upon receiving the pigeon the
empress joined Romanos on the Asian coast presenting the army with
an image of royal unity and no doubt angering the relatives of her late
husband who did not welcome such affirmations of her dedication to the
emperor.
Soothing as this sign of domestic concord, no doubt was for many
of Romanos’ supporters, others remained weary. For some, the choice
of location for the mustering of the troops and for the setting up of
the imperial camp was less than satisfactory. Attaleiates tells us that the
original landing site of Heria was bypassed, the imperial coterie moving
to Helenopolis. To the soldiers, the name of this new location was an
opportunity for word-puns. The city of Constantine’s mother, Helen,
became Heleinopolis (Patheticville) in the lips of Romanos’ warriors.
For those who took note of such things, the wordplay itself was a bad
omen. And if that were not enough, the central pillar of the emperor’s
tent broke bringing it all down to the ground, an insignificant event in
the grand scheme of things, another instance, however, where symbolism
outweighed reality.
In a climate, rife with speculation about names, random events, and

all manner of portents, Romanos led the army down the empire’s long
military roads on his way east. A Babel of languages, accents, dresses,
and even cooking tastes snaked its way through the Anatolian country-
side, meeting on its way the changing faces of Roman farmers, herd-
ers, ranchers, and town-folk. The cheer of the bystanders was surely
frequently muffled by complaints, the inevitable product of the army’s
crop requisitions. Here in the fields of Anatolia, before Attaleiates’ eyes,
the ancient paradox of empires and states was being played out: to pro-
tect the emperor’s subjects from the anticipated violence of marauding
foreigners, the Roman state, like so many other states before and after
it, inflicted upon its own constituents the metronomic “violence” of
the taxman. Attaleiates was surely very busy at the center of this errant
multiethnic society of warriors and camp attendants. Farmers’ crops
were attacked, fruit trees were rendered bare, and the occasional scuf-
fle erupted between the local population and soldiers of this marching
army. Imperial documents which for centuries guaranteed exemptions
from crop requisitions were rendered meaningless with but one verbal
order as warriors walked through a monastery’s lands. On occasion,
there was even fighting between the different ethnic groups of soldiers
angling for the emperor’s favor and for primacy among the ranks of the
army. Attaleiates had to intervene and dispense justice, sometimes in the
presence of the emperor, who as the ultimate authority, often meted out
very harsh punishments. To the civilian judge, the quick wrath of mil-
itary justice and the exigencies of army discipline appeared so extreme
that in his notes he preserved comments critical of the emperor.35 At the
end of each day, however, Attaleiates and the soldiers he traveled with
went to their respective tents with plenty of time to contemplate the
coming days of even more arduous campaigning. Thoughts of glory no
doubt went through their minds, but on occasion fear ruled the night.
When fire burned the emperor’s tent and then engulfed the imperial
stables sending flaming steeds running amok around the Roman camp,
Attaleiates could not but interpret the event as a bad omen. The intel-
lectuals around him, all men with at least some rudimentary “training”
in astrology and divination, and an even better knowledge of the classics
would have heard of a similar event in the camp of Emperor Julian dur-
ing his fatal Persian campaign.36
As the army moved further east, reaching the province of Charisanon,
the emperor billeted troops on his personal property, whenever possible,
182 D. KRALLIS
thus making a statement, for all to clearly digest, that he was ready to
personally shoulder the heavy burden of supplying the empire’s expe-
ditionary force. There was reason for such public display of generosity.
Despite his efforts and explicit orders, his mercenaries were not always
in their best behavior. The Germans among them proved a headache
when they raided the farms of the locals and forcefully requisitioned
their harvest.37 In response to such outrage the emperor, once again,
harshly punished the culprits only to then face an attack on his person by
an incensed German contingent. As judge of the army Attaleiates would
have been directly involved in the negotiations that eventually put an end
to the tense standoff between Romanos and his foreign helpers. When a
few days later the emperor’s expeditionary force went through the battle-
field where but a year ago the short Turk by the side of the commander
in chief had defeated the army of Manuel Komnenos, the hundreds of
soldier’s bodies decomposing under the Anatolian sky, untended by a
caring hand, send a chill down the spine of even the bravest, most experi-
enced, and confident of soldiers.
To this day, soldiers remain a superstitious lot, carefully seeking divine
assistance, and making sure to keep good credit in God’s ledger. The life
of the conscript in the Greek army is still punctuated by numerous cere-
monies of prayer, blessing of flags and arms, as well as celebrations of the
lives of a host of Byzantine military saints. Images of those same Saints,
the Virgin Mary and other religious paraphernalia, all centrally procured
by the ministry of defense and mass produced by contractors who seem
to specialize in exactly that kind of industry (a military-spiritual com-
plex of sorts)—are part of a conscript’s daily experience. Closer to North
America, the sustained effort by evangelicals to establish a presence
among the ranks of the US armed forces is in tune with the very ancient
association between fighting men and the divinity that is supposed to
protect war’s disciples. It is therefore hardly surprising that in the context
of a dangerous campaign against an able enemy Romanos’ soldiers kept
their eyes peeled for even the slightest evidence of divine displeasure.
Soon the army entered a no-man’s land of severely looted territory.
Here Romanos split his forces sending a part toward Chliat—the origi-
nal target of Attaleiates’ 1069 military blueprint—while directing the rest
toward the fortress of Mantzikert, a few kilometers to the north shore of
Lake Van. His decision was contested. There were some among the ranks
of his officer corps who felt that the army should remain intact. Others
were confident that the imperial host, even if split in two, was more than
adequate to effectively deal with any conceivable threat. Attaleiates fol-

lowed Romanos’ half of the army to Mantzikert, where the emperor,
much as he had done before Hierapolis in 1068, immediately put his
Armenian infantry to work and invested the city. The sight of the emper-
or’s forces with their effective siege train convinced the Seljuq guards of
the fortress to surrender. Romanos could already at this early stage in the
campaign boast some success, having with minimum effort occupied a
strategically important fortress in Armenia.
From here, however, the affairs of the Romans deteriorated and may
be followed as we weave in and out of Attaleiates’ dramatic account.38
“News began to arrive that enemy forces from somewhere were attack-
ing the soldiers’ servants who were out gathering the loot, harassing
and wearing them out.” Seeking to address this problem, Romanos dis-
patched the magistros Nikephoros Bryennios with what he thought was
an adequate force under his command. Bryennios “took his stand in the
front lines and attempted some missile skirmishing and cavalry fighting,
but with uncertain results.” Attaleiates considers it important for his
readers to know the reason behind Bryennios’ subpar performance and
explains that “these Turks were more courageous than others we had
experienced, as they charged more boldly and stood up to their oppo-
nents in hand to hand combat.” All Bryennios could do in the face of
unexpected enemy tenaciousness was call for reinforcements.
Responding to this developing battlefield situation, Romanos dis-
patched the katepano of Theodosiopolis Basilakios, to offer assistance
to the beleaguered Bryennios. Together the two commanders fought
the Turks yet, eventually, miscommunication and a battlefield acci-
dent—he fell off his horse—led to Basilakios’ capture by the enemy.
When the emperor was apprised of this, he “was compelled to take the
rest of the army out to see what was happening and to fight.” Since the
Turks failed to engage Romanos’ superior force, the Romans rode back
into their camp at the onset of the evening. In the course of a moon-
less night, the Roman army slept an uneasy sleep safely enveloped by
trenches and moats. While the camp offered a measure of security to
the Romans, the army’s European contingents mistrusted their merce-
nary colleagues of nomadic origins. What if these men, who so looked
like the enemy in the eyes of the Romans, decided to turn on them?
What if the enemy was in fact closer than they thought, plotting an
attack from the neighboring tent?
184 D. KRALLIS
Attaleiates himself had described the Pantzinakoi as snakes in his

History.39 That was of course well before Romanos defeated them in
the Balkans only to then recruit them in Romanía’s armies. Would they
perhaps bite, now that they faced an enemy, who in Byzantine eyes
looked so similar to them? The next day all those questions appeared to
be answered in the affirmative when “a certain Tamis went over to the
enemy” throwing the Romans into some real consternation because they
“suspected that the rest of that people, whose way of life was so similar
to that of the Turks, might join them and fight on their side.” In the
midst of suspicion and fear, there were nevertheless displays of efficient
soldiering, as Roman “infantry took their bows and went out and killed
a large number of Turks, which forced them to stay clear of the camp.”
On the morrow, Romanos who had despaired waiting for
Tarchaneiotes’ troops to return from Chliat prepared his available forces
for battle. The army, however, still needed assurances that its nomadic
mercenaries would remain loyal and Attaleiates, who was conferring
in the imperial tent with Romanos, advised the emperor to have the
Scythians give him assurance of their loyalty by oath. We can imagine
that this oath was delivered in a public space at the very center of the
Roman camp for all to see. In the middle of this tableau, the judge of
the army Michael Attaleiates administered oaths to the Patzinakoi. The
emperor was now ready for battle, which was only postponed by the
arrival of a Turkish embassy seeking peace. Romanos quickly dismissed
the enemy emissaries without any offers for de-escalation. He was now
committed to decisive battle. Marshaling his forces, Romanos marched
against the Seljuq line with the full might of Rome.
Before well-marshaled Roman infantry, the Seljuq force retreated in
time-honored nomadic fashion. Romanos’ orderly march pushed the
Roman formation ever forward until the onset of the evening convinced
him to end his onwards push. As the order was given for the turning of
the army pennons, the visual mark of the commander’s call for orderly
retreat, Romanos’ enemies, so tells us Attaleiates, found the opportu-
nity they were looking for to make a political power play. Andronikos
Doukas, entrusted with the Roman army’s second line, led his soldiers
in retreat, choosing to interpret the sign of the turned pennons as evi-
dence of defeat. By doing so, Andronikos left Romanos’ front line
stranded deep into the battlefield, against a fluid and mobile enemy
force, which was now free to execute an enveloping maneuver on the
Roman vanguard. From here on everything turned sour for the Romans.
Come sunset, their emperor was captured, scores of soldiers and camp
attendants killed, and the dream of imperial restoration in Asia shattered.
Saved from this chaotic battlefield by pure luck and, perhaps, heroism,
Attaleiates followed with other stragglers the long road to the Pontic city
of Trebizond and from its harbor picked, along with many other Roman
survivors, the first available ship to the capital and the uncharted waters
of an emerging Doukas administration. By way of different avenues, the
surviving Roman forces, the bulk of the army in fact, under the com-
mand of Andronikos Doukas and Tarchaneiotes, regrouped and declared
their allegiance to that very administration. Everyone now prepared for
the next act of this Roman drama: civil war.
Notes
1. George T. Dennis (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Orationes Panegyricae (Leipzig:
Teubner, 1994), p. 180, oration 19, lines 10–25.
2. Psellos, Chronographia VII, Michael VI. 3 (Renaud, pp. 84–85) on the
emperor insulting Isaakios Komnenos.
3. Maurice, Strategikon in George T. Dennis (ed. and trans.), Das
Strategikon des Maurikios (Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1981), p. 250, lines 9–11 [Book VII.11] on not lead-
ing soldiers to battle after a defeat; G. T. Dennis, Maurice’s Strategikon.
Handbook of Byzantine Military Strategy (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1984), p. 72 for the translation.
4. Attaleiates, History, p. 267, Bekker 146; Ray Van Dam, Kingdom of Snow:
Roman Rule and Greek Culture in Cappadocia (Philadelphia: University
of Pennsylvania Press, 2002), pp. 23–24 on horse rearing in Anatolia.
7. Attaleiates, History, p. 359, Bekker 196–97.
8. Gilbert Dagron (ed.), Le traité sur la guérilla (De velitatione) de l’em
pereur Nicéphore Phocas (963–969) (Paris: CNRS, 1986).
9. John G. C. Anderson, “The Road System of Asia Minor,” The Journal
of Hellenic Studies XVII (1897), pp. 22, 23 and 28 for the relevant map
(with caution regarding the accuracy of the road system).
13. Theodosios Diakonos in Hugo Criscuolo (ed.), Theodosii Diaconi De
Creta capta (Leipzig: Teubner, 1979) for the type of text that could have
shaped pro-Romanos propaganda.
186 D. KRALLIS
14. George T. Dennis (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Orationes Panegyricae (Leipzig:

Teubner, 1994), pp. 175–76, oration 18.
15. Attaleiates, History, p. 175, Bekker 96 regarding raids on Antioch.
17. Attaleiates, History, pp. 210–13, Bekker 116 on establishing Byzantine
rule at Hierapolis.
19. Attaleiates, History, p. 219, Bekker 120 on avoiding Antioch to save it
from food crisis.
21. Lucian, Macrobii (ed.), A. M. Marmon (1913), vol. 1, 22.19–23 on
Polybios’ riding accident and death; Eduard Kurtz and Francis Drexl
(ed.), Michaelis Pselli Scripta Minora magnam partem adhunc inedita II:
Epistulae (Milan, 1941), letter 232 on Psellos’ fear of horseback riding.
28. Konstantinos Manasses in Odysseas Lampsides (ed.), Constantini
Manassis Breviarium Chronicum (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1997),
p. 346, lines 6387–6393.
29. Psellos’ letter to the Konstantinos the nephew of Keroularios in Kenneth
Snipes, “A Letter of Michael Psellus to Constantine the Nephew of
Michael Cerularios,” Greek, Roman and Byzantine Studies 22.1 (Spring
1981), pp. 99–100 for the Greek text p. 101 for the translation.
31. Maurice, Strategikon in George T. Dennis (ed. and trans.), Das
Strategikon des Maurikios (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1981), pp. 126–28 [Book II.9] on not leading sol-
diers to battle after a defeat; George T. Dennis, Maurice’s Strategikon.
Handbook of Byzantine Military Strategy (Philadelphia: University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1984), p. 29 for the translation.
32. Leendert G. Westernik (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,
1992), pp. 190–233, poem 9 A Medical Poem.
36. Ammianus Marcelinus, Roman History, XXIII.5.12–13 on Julian in
John C. Rolfe (trans.), Ammianus Marcellinus: History Books 20–26
(Cambridge, MA: Loeb Classical Library), p. 341.
37. Attaleiates, History, pp. 266–69, Bekker 146–47 on the Germans.

38. Attaleiates, History, pp. 280–302, Bekker 155–66 for a page range of the
battle of Mantzikert from this point to Romanos’ release from captivity.
CHAPTER 10
Byzantine “Republicanism”:
Attaleiates’ Politics of Accommodation
and Self-Interest
Back from the battlefields after Romanos’ disastrous campaign in

Armenia, Attaleiates was hard at work trying to settle into a less than
friendly court. Having orbited imperial power in the years of Romanos’
reign, he was likely suspect in the eyes of the new regime. It may in fact
be that this consideration made him rush to Constantinople after the dust
had settled on the battlefield of Mantzikert. Army regiments and cour-
tiers, men like Attaleiates’ friend Maleses, flocked to Romanos’ standard
after the latter was released from his eight-day captivity in the hands of
the Sultan. Attaleiates who was in Trebizond when he received the joyous
news of Romanos’ survival joined instead those members of the imperial
taxis who sought the fastest possible means to reach the capital.
His choice was practical if not altogether principled. A few years
later, a contemporary from the ranks of the army wrote a book of advice
for his children, in which he argued that: “the emperor in control of
Constantinople always wins.”1 Much like this pragmatic commander,
Attaleiates may have reckoned that the Constantinopolitan regime would
prevail and that, despite his popularity, Romanos was a spent force, as
the capital, its people, and the edifice of the state were all arrayed against
him. Reflecting on all this in writings circulated among peers and friends
during the ensuing decade, he presented the beaten emperor as Rome’s
betrayed hero. In the autumn of 1071, however, he judged it prudent
to rush back to Constantinople, offer his loyalty to the now dominant
Doukas faction, and embrace his son Theodore whom he had not seen

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_10
190 D. KRALLIS
for nearly six months. The boy along with Attaleiates’ dependents and
household was likely worried sick, given the swirling rumors of the
emperor’s defeat.
Once in the capital, the judge worked frantically to restore his posi-
tion at court and by 1075, when he received from Michael VII Doukas
a grant of extensive tax privileges for his newly founded monastery of
Christ Panoiktirmon, he was evidently once again a regular member of
the courtly scene. In order to come closer to the bookish young emperor
and establish himself in the Doukas circles, Attaleiates took a page from
Psellos’ guidebook of sycophantic self-promotion. Michael Doukas was
a naïve fellow, yet to Psellos’ credit, the emperor, whom writers of the
period treat as a plaything in his tutor’s hands, valued education, and
erudition. Psellos himself wrote a long legal poem in which he devel-
oped the central tenets of Roman law for Michael, while Symeon Seth
dedicated to him a work on nutrition and on the dietary properties of
a series of comestibles.2 Thus, when Attaleiates sought to establish his
own credentials as a loyal servant of the emperor and an intellectual to
boot, he chose this well-tried method and offered Michael a book, an
abridgment—more scholarly than Psellos’ poem—of the essential points
of Roman law.
This text, known to us as the Ponema Nomikon, opens with a his-
torical overview of the Roman legal tradition going all the way back to
the first Roman kings and the republic. It then structures its material in
a manner that casts imperial rule as an enterprise bound by laws. This
commitment to the rule of law is evident in Attaleiates’ other legislative
activity and also more broadly colors his view of politics. It is of course
with trepidation that one ventures on ground as shaky and shifty as a
medieval individual’s political opinions. For much contemporary scholar-
ship, a Byzantine’s political universe was monolithic and simple enough
to reconstruct. As the story goes, Byzantium was a monarchical state
ruled by the representative of God on earth. It derived legitimacy from
its long Roman past and from the connection of this Roman history with
God’s plan for humanity. The emperor stood at the center of this ideo-
logical construct, not quite divine in this new Christian era, but bathed
in God’s approbation. Every component of the state was linked directly
to his almost superhuman will and submitted to his divinely conceived
ordinances. From the emperor came justice and from him the wealth and
goodwill that allowed the upper classes to establish their authority. The
emperor was finally the guarantor of his subjects’ safety and prosperity.
10 BYZANTINE “REPUBLICANISM”: ATTALEIATES’ POLITICS … 191
Byzantine authors are thought to have written history within the param-
eters set by this ideology in turn reinforcing it with their every reference
to imperial omnipotence and divine will.
By privileging one type of document, the imperial panegyric and
the Christian theology of power tied to it, over the more complex and
demanding historical and legal texts, we have somewhat uncritically
adopted the imperial view of politics. Would we privilege, however,
White House press releases and Downing Street briefs in a study of
American or British politics and political ideology? Or would we perhaps
cast a wider net? What about society at large, what did people think of
politics? During Michael VII’ reign, both Psellos and Attaleiates started
working on ideas about the body politic which, while remaining firmly
within Roman traditions, radically departed from the schema described
above. The two intellectuals mined a rich vein of Roman political
thought and produced interpretations of contemporary politics that took
heed of the altered face of Romanía’s eleventh-century society. Psellos
was the first to put pen on paper. Along with his legal poem, which itself
harked back to the days of the Roman Republic, he offered Michael VII
a second text, a peculiar little Chronicle recording Rome’s history from
the days of its first kings to the mid-tenth century.
We have more or less ignored this peculiar and relatively little-studied
text, overwhelmed by the narrative brilliance and sheer fun of Psellos’
masterpiece, the Chronographia. Yet Psellos was onto something very
interesting as he wrote this less known text, which was addressed to an
emperor and was intended to shape his worldview. In it, after narrating
the gradual slide of the Roman monarchy to tyranny, Psellos speaks of
Brutus’ admirable expulsion of Rome’s last king and of the institution
of the republic. No doubt to the surprise of many a palace insider, the
Historia Syntomos informed Michael that Rome had been best ruled in
the days of the Republic, when two annually elected consuls managed
the affairs of the Roman state.3 Is it likely that Psellos saw in the repub-
lic, or in a regime that borrowed from its panoply of practices and tra-
ditions, a means to institutionalize the position of educated men like
Attaleiates and himself in the Byzantine political apparatus? What we
find in the rest of his body of work suggests that the answer may have
to be a cautious yes. Psellos left hints of his republican agenda even in
the Chronographia where despite his negative use of the term democracy
he cites republican Roman and democratic Greek leaders as models of
virtue.
192 D. KRALLIS
Attaleiates, already the author of a text on Roman law, was working

on very similar ideas about a decade after Psellos published the Historia
Syntomos. The world they both lived in was changing and people of their
class were trying to find ways to make sense of these changes. Attaleiates
had personal experience of such commotion in 1077 when he found
himself in the midst of a civic moment that highlights the social flux of
his times. From the safety of his office, he could look back to the events
of 1077 and ponder on their significance. It had been another difficult
year for the Romans whose forces were hard pressed on every front. The
Seljuqs were pushing hard on the Asian frontiers and in the Balkans; the
Patzinakoi were restless in the lands around the Danube. To make things
worse, there was discontent in the ranks of the army and its aristocratic
leadership. While the empire was in pitiable state and even as Michael
VII was fast acquiring nicknames associated with his inability to effi-
ciently and cheaply provision the capital with food, Attaleiates decided to
visit his estates in and around the city of Raidestos. As a master of men
and owner of substantial tracks of land, he regularly toured his estates
in order to ensure their proper operation. The visit was also necessary
as the town and its people at the time suffered from a state-imposed
monopoly on the sale of grain, which had led to hoarding and to gov-
ernment repression of those farmers who resisted imperial intervention in
the local economy. As a landowner and employer of tenants on his lands,
Attaleiates had reasons to be in Raidestos in the summer around the time
of the harvest.
When traveling to his estates the judge was always accompanied and
rode on horseback, pretty much as if going on campaign. The number
of people in his entourage is unknown, yet his entry in Raidestos would
have been a much-anticipated moment on the part of the local commu-
nity given his links to the court and his rank. As we have already seen, he
had carefully marked his ties to the city and its people through a series
of donations to local churches and monasteries, while his home was
located within the walls of the town. Much like in Greek villages to this
day, people would recognize his house as tou Attaleiatou (Attaleiates’),
and the caretaker would have carefully prepared it for his master’s arrival.
Yet this routine summer visit was to put Attaleiates in a dangerous sit-
uation. Soon after his arrival, the doux Nikephoros Bryennios, gov-
ernor of the city of Dyrrhachion on the Adriatic Sea, rebelled against
Michael Doukas’ authority. This development should not have trou-
bled the judge, as in normal circumstances it would have taken weeks
for Bryennios to muster his troops and march toward Thrace from his
power base in the Western Balkans. On this occasion, however, things
proved more complex. Writing in the twelfth century, the princess Anna
Komnene, married to Bryennios’ grandson, noted that the population
of the Balkans flocked in droves to the rebel’s standards. It seems that
the doux had agents bent on mobilizing the people to his side in all the
important urban centers of the area.4 In Raidestos, that agent was a
woman. Batatzina was a member of an important aristocratic family.
When rumors of Bryennios’ unwelcome rebellion reached Thrace,
the judge no doubt assumed that he had enough time to conclude his
business in Raidestos before retreating in timely fashion to the safety of
the capital. Not long afterward, however, a knock on the door in the
middle of the night brought him news of a rapidly changing situation.
A man he had previously benefited in some manner, conceivably a cli-
ent of his or maybe a tenant, came to his home and informed him of
meetings among the city’s elite in the course of which Batatzina sought
to bring local notables over to the side of the rebel. Attaleiates who had
not been approached, an indication that he was probably seen as a loy-
alist, now faced the need to reassess his position among the citizens of
Raidestos.5 Thinking fast, he decided to make a run for the capital. As in
1071, when he left behind him Trebizond, friends, and the newly freed
Romanos on the first available boat to the capital, he placed his eggs
in the imperial basket once more. The emperor in Constantinople was
bound to be the winner on this occasion as well.
Batatzina, however, had placed armed guards at the city gates and
complicated his escape from Raidestos. Early in the summer morning,
the silk-clad official met the determined lady and her citizen soldiers.
A tense face-off ensued during which Attaleiates argued with a mix of
threats and reason that it was in the aristocratic woman’s interest to
offer him a way out. Thinking to the future Batatzina understood that
the judge could prove a useful ally should the rebellion fail. The city of
Raidestos, her family, her sons, would all need a friend at court to make
the case for clemency. He owed her one for being set free. Writing about
those events a year or two later Attaleiates offered interesting details
regarding the city’s preparations for the rebellion. He noted that the
people assembled and together decided to join the rebel. Once the deci-
sion was taken they proceeded to fortify the city with the help of newly
arrived rebel troops and burn a number of structures by the city’s har-
bor that would make it easier to defend the area from an attack coming
194 D. KRALLIS
over the sea. Then, altogether citizens and soldiers moved toward the
neighboring fortified town of Panion, which had not yet declared for
the rebel, and besieged it. In his description of events in Raidestos,
Attaleiates is in effect narrating what amounts to popular mobilization
and action. The upper social strata led the city, yet decisions were taken
collectively and, most importantly, the citizens acted as one properly
constituted political and military unit; almost like a city-state.
Throughout 1078 and 79 Constantinople itself was a city in unrest.
Rumors were rife of new rebellions stirring in the provinces. To make
things worse, southern winds carried the sound from the Turkish war
drums from the city of Chalkedon on the Asian coast. The people of the
capital were tired and demoralized. The previous emperor, Michael VII
Doukas had presided over the gradual decomposition of the empire, the
secession of significant parts of Asian territories, and perhaps most signif-
icantly for the Constantinopolitans themselves, extensive grain shortages
and famine. The crowd was clearly at the limits of its tolerance when it
greeted with cheers as a savior the man who put an end to the Doukas
regime, Nikephoros Botaneiates. Attaleiates cannot have felt comfortable
in such fluid political environment. He had witnessed in his years as a res-
ident of the capital a series of popular upheavals and knew that they were
volatile, highly destructive affairs. The new emperor soon proved to be
less of a savior and more of a poser. Botaneiates looks great on the pages
of an expensive manuscript his predecessor commissioned with homilies
of Saint John Chrysostom. He appears young and elegant. In reality, he
was an older man well past his prime. His military exploits lay in his dis-
tant past. For the people writing after his reign, he was a buffoon
He sat high on throne wrought of silver

Honouring with offices those who came to him:
Blacksmiths, carpenters, diggers, merchants, farmers,
cobblers, rope-makers, fullers, workers in vineyards.
He debased and defiled what was valuable and illustrious,
by handing down glory to lowly labourers,
which former emperors had bestowed as a trophy
for great feats of valour and achievements
and [reserved] for those of illustrious lineage and blood.6
Aristocratic snobbery notwithstanding, this scurrilous text reveals a social

dynamic, which Attaleiates had already witnessed in Raidestos. The rising
elites of the empire, merchants, and tradespeople, who benefited from
increasing volumes of trade and commercial activity, were useful allies to

any emperor looking to bolster his claim on the throne. They maintained
direct links to the populace, as they were themselves products of the
street and fed the expanding roster of the Roman Senate with a steady
stream of cash-rich members. In the process, they frequently contested
the authority of traditional stakeholders in empire-wide tests of will. We
thus see them spring into action in 1074 at Antioch, where according to
the twelfth-century historian Nikephoros Bryennios
Some of those who had recently risen in status, burning with envy for
those in power and for the doux, armed the crowd against them and
the former they blockaded in the citadel guarding the gates, while they
attacked and killed some of the latter. As for the rest, they turned towards
the citadel and stormed the houses of the ruling class pilfering their
money.7
The doux Isaakios Komnenos, elder brother of future Emperor Alexios I,

and member of the very same established class of notables under attack
at the Syrian metropolis was able to quell the rebellion only with diffi-
culty. In this context of social flux and loudly beating war drums, with
Botaneiates looking to the empire’s new rich for support against external
and internal enemies, Attaleiates picked his pen to write about a popular
rebellion in the empire’s recent past.
The judge kindled vivid memories from his youth as he unspooled
the thread of the story line. Even as tensions rose in the capital in 1078
with the prospects of riots and urban disturbances at an all-time high,
he wrote about the popular uprising that toppled the Emperor Michael
V some thirty-five years earlier. The rudiments of the story are simple.
Michael V succeeded his uncle Michael IV to the throne. He owed his
rise to power to Empress Zoe, his uncle’s wife, who adopted him after
intense lobbying by influential members of Michael IV’s clan. Upon
being adopted and offered, the title of Kaisar Michael swore oaths to
faithfully submit to Zoe’s authority. Once, however, his uncle died
and Michael was crowned emperor in his place he felt stifled by Zoe’s
presence and by her legitimate, not to say venerable, dynastic claims to
power. Michael, who wanted to rule as sole emperor, started looking for
ways to sideline the empress. To test popular opinion, he staged a lavish
imperial procession the likes of which emperors orchestrated on a regular
basis to court their subjects’ favor and impress their majesty upon them.
196 D. KRALLIS
The event itself was well received and Michael convinced himself that
he was the people’s darling. Emboldened he sent guards to arrest Zoe
and lead her to a monastery outside the city’s limits, where her influence
and authority, far from the wellspring of popular support was expected
to wane. At this point, however, the people got wind of the develop-
ment and shortly their indignation burst out into furious rebellion. Days
of violence in the capital led to the end of Michael’s reign after less than
six months on the throne. At least three thousand dead civilians as well
as significant damage to the center of the city must be added to the his-
torian’s ledger.
If our interest lies in the details of the rebellion itself then we should
not be using Attaleiates’ account, relying instead on Skylitzes and
Psellos’ more detailed story lines. What makes his recollection of the
event fascinating, however, is how he treats the participants and main
heroes of the rebellion, the people of Constantinople. If Attaleiates
had modeled his storytelling on the writings of other historians, who
had in years past described similar occurrences, he would certainly have
sketched a rather negative portrait of the rebelled population. Put simply,
Byzantine authors did not like “the people.” Like many new rich seek-
ing to escape their social milieu, historians—more often than not men of
middling background who scaled the social ladder by means of education
and service to the state—developed a passionate dislike for the unwashed
masses of Constantinople.
Writing more than a century after Attaleiates’ death, Niketas
Choniates described the Constantinopolitan plebs as disorderly, difficult
to control, rash in behavior and crooked in their ways. For Choniates,
the variety of peoples and the diverse trades that all together made up
the populace constituted a collective whose will easily swayed one way
or the other. The people therefore acted without reason and rarely if
ever accepted good advice, nearly always hurting their own interests in
the process. Having delivered this scathing rebuke of his fellow citizens,
Choniates turns his attention on the impulsive nature of the populace
and notes that often just one word was enough to dispose the crowd to
rebellion. Our Constantinopolitan functionary tells us that this was to be
expected, given that the people really had no concern for dynastic legiti-
macy and monarchy.8
In the late 1070s, writing in a city teetering on the verge of social
explosion, Attaleiates put his own spin on the 1042 rebellion. In doing
so, he staged his own rebellion against elite critiques of the populace
such as the one presented here. Attaleiates’ crowd first appears in the
pages of the History as a gossiping collection of individuals. After
Michael’s grand procession, the people in the streets and the city’s mar-
kets discussed the events of the day and expressed their approbation for
the grand imperial show. Soon, however, this happy, benign, and barely
coherent body of people starts acquiring a collective consciousness. A
reader expecting Attaleiates to follow established models of narration
similar to Choniates’ bilious description of the crowd is in for a surprise.
From early on Attaleiates musters the vocabulary of democracy to set
up the people as a formally constituted political body, a rational actor,
reaching decisions through careful and reasoned deliberation and act-
ing as agents of justice, guided by a force up above, pretty much as any
Byzantine ruler was supposedly guided by God.
Attaleiates’ use of the vocabulary of democracy could be attrib-
uted to the Byzantine tendency to use classical terms in order to color
contemporary reality. On this occasion, however, we are dealing with
something different. Attaleiates’ Constantinopolitan populace is pre-
sented as a demos and a boule and proves adept in mobilizing allies and
organizing resistance to the emperor. They are assembled in the forum
of Constantine, which the author links to the ancient Athenian agora,
through some deft messaging. Most importantly, the people’s decisions
can be judged from the actions that follow. They collectively attack the
imperial agents sent by Michael V to address them, following in unison
the example of one man and most essentially, they appear to be guided
by God. Then they destroyed property belonging to the family of the
emperor, which was built on the sweat and tears of the oppressed poor
and later they looted monasteries richly endowed through similar pro-
cesses of expropriation and extortion. If the judge felt sorry for the
afflicted monks he certainly did not see it fit to report his disapproval.
The people’ final action is the blinding of Michael along with his closest
and most loyal ally the nobellisimos Konstantinos. They were dragged out
of the church, where they had taken refuge and taken to a public spot in
the city where they were blinded in an act that was clearly against canon
law, violating the church as a place of asylum. Attaleiates does not seem
to mind. He in fact describes this action as divine justice that befell the
oath-breaking emperor.9
Here we are then, with Attaleiates in his late fifties, a member of
the senate, a holder of courtly titles that evoked Rome’s republican
past, in the midst of a city in turmoil and in a court brimming with
198 D. KRALLIS
representatives of the empire’s urban strata, writing an account of a pop-

ular rebellion in which the people appear as the true upholders of dynas-
tic rights and of the monarchy. The judge had every reason to be bilious
in his attitude toward the crowd. The citizens of Raidestos who had only
recently rebelled against Michael Doukas had also destroyed his prop-
erty in the city, treating him as a loyalist and therefore an enemy. Despite
that he was open to something new. Attaleiates was carefully unveiling
his “republican” side. In the History, the most patriotic Romans are the
ancient heroes of the republic, the Scipiones and Aemilii, who offer his
readers exempla of virtue to set up against the vices of his contempo-
raries. It is in republican Rome that Attaleiates finds proper devotion
to Roman custom, religion, and the fatherland. Much like Psellos, who
praised Lucius Jiunius Brutus’ Roman regicide and the balanced system
of governance of the republic, Attaleiates looked to the past for a model
of governance, which would accommodate all the sometimes chaotic, yet
creative and dynamic forces that constituted the polity of the Romans in
the eleventh century.
The ultimate impact of Attaleiates’ historically embedded politi-
cal science is hard to gage. He did not live to experience the rise of the
Komnenoi, who rather than share power with an urban senate, colo-
nized the state with members of aristocratic families they grafted onto
their own bloodline and promoted an exclusive aristocratic ideal inimi-
cal to republican musings, one based on antiquity of lineage and heroic,
Homeric even, deeds. And yet, the language of the republic did survive,
as writers in the twelfth century followed Attaleiates and Psellos’ prac-
tice of using republican heroes as models of Roman virtue.10 Attaleiates
appropriated the lineage of the ancient Scipiones and the Fabii for his
contemporary Byzantine Emperors; Bryennios and his wife, Alexios’
daughter Anna Komnene, did much the same. Republican heroes were
there to stay even if the republic was once again consigned to the calends
of history.
It is not too bold a statement to note that what emerges from the
History as Attaleiates’ political ideology was, at least to some extent,
grounded on his own social experiences and sought to address his con-
cerns about the position of his social peers in Romanía’s changing social
landscape. In many ways, Attaleiates articulated a political theory of
self-interest that envisioned enhanced influence in the body politic for
newly emerging groupings. Yet, this is also a somewhat unfair assessment
of his thinking. Self-interest did not have to demonstrate itself in the
tortured form of elaborate re-conceptualizations of Romanía’s politics.

There were plenty of men like Attaleiates, who had risen from a mid-
dling economic background through education and skills, had integrated
themselves in the upper echelons of the administration and remained
attached to the theology of power produced at court by the emperor’s
image-makers, never hinting at the possibility of political change. Unlike
such men, Attaleiates and with him Psellos to be sure, weave in their
work a bottom-up vision of politics predicated upon a two-way interac-
tion between an active citizenry and its rule-bound rulers. Most impor-
tantly, living in a time of profound political and military crisis, Attaleiates
is one of the few Byzantines we know of, who appears to have connected
the political and military condition of the state with the social forces fue-
ling the crisis. For Attaleiates then, politics—usually treated by medieval
writers as a field of action for emperors, or, in more nuanced analysis,
as an arena for the clash between courtiers and army leaders—was influ-
enced, and ultimately defined, by changes in the societal level. Eleventh-
century Emperors from Michael V to Nikephoros Botaneiates crudely
attempted to harness what they saw as rising urban strata to prop up
their faltering regimes and bolster their positions on the throne. It was
left, however, to intellectuals like Attaleiates to provide the ideological
framework for such transition.
That said the History is no manifesto against the monarchy. Attaleiates
consistently sought a strong emperor, who would keep the polity in
order and successfully lead the troops in battle. Ironically his answer to
that call was Alexios Komnenos, the man who would in time put a con-
clusive end to any further discussion of “republicanism.” Nevertheless,
the phenomenon, which Attaleiates was trying to address in his writing,
namely the rise of new, wealthy, and influential urban strata was not to
go away. In writing about her father’s campaigning in Asia Minor in
the 1070s, Anna Komnene described his interaction with the citizens
of Amaseia. In the year 1074, the Emperor Michael VII Doukas sent
Alexios on a campaign against the Norman rebel Rouselios. Reaching the
city of Amaseia the young generalissimo had to negotiate with its leaders
and the local population in order to gain their support for his actions
against the Norman mercenary. In presenting Alexios’ interaction with
the Amaseians, his daughter Anna cast him in the guise of a Greek ora-
tor in the agora addressing the demos of a city-state.11 Everything, from
Alexios’ gestures, to his language and even the presence of demagogues
in the crowd, worked to replicate a sense of democratic deliberations.
200 D. KRALLIS
Sixty years after Attaleiates’ death, the language of democracy and repub-
licanism was still an apt tool for the description of certain social and
political phenomena.
Sat before his desk, with cheap cotton-based chancery-grade paper
before him, Attaleiates wrote about Botaneiates, noting that he took
no heed of the state’s need for money and resources that would be
devoted to the dangers pressing the polity from every side. Instead
the elderly emperor proved a most generous patron of the people of
Constantinople, making even the beggars rich. The language used is
ambiguous and one could read the text both as praise of generosity and
as castigation of profligate spending in a time of crisis. What is, how-
ever, important is that in Attaleiates’ writings and then in the venomous
twelfth-century critique of this opening of the senate, we see discussions
about a new consensus regarding the division of the pie. Attaleiates and
his peers were political beings who enjoyed life in the public sphere.
They debated the world around them, took opposing positions, organ-
ized into competing parties on account of those positions, and in doing
so produced a peculiarly Roman conception and form of politics.
Notes
1. Kekaumenos see Tsougkarakis, Κεκαυμένος, Στρατηγικόν, p. 234; Charlotte
Roueché’s online translation under IV. About Rebellions and Loyalty in
the sixth paragraph for the text.
2. Bernhard Langkavel (ed.), Simeonis Sethi Syntagma de Alimentorum
Facultatibus (Leipzig: Teubner, 1868); Gunter Weiss, “Die ‘Synopsis
legum’ des Michael Psellos,” Fontes Minores 2 (Frankfurt, 1977),
pp. 147–214.
3. Psellos, “Historia Syntomos,” in Michaelis Pselli Historia Syntomos, ed.
and trans. Jan Aerts (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1990), p. 8, lines 22–24.
4. Anna Komnene, Alexiad, pp. 18.28–19.32 on the general popular
response to Bryennios.
6. Konstantinos Manasses, in Odysseas Lampsides (ed.), Constantini
Manassis Breviarium Chronicum (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1997),
p. 357, lines 6594–602.
7. Nikephoros Breyennios, Material for History, II. 29 in Paul Gautier (ed.
and trans.), Nicéphore Bryennios, Histoire (Bruxelles: Byzantion, 1975),
p. 205, lines 19–25.
8. Niketas Choniates, “History,” in Niketae Choniatae Historia, ed. Jan

L. van Dieten (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1975), pp. 233–34, Bekker
304–5; Speros Vryonis Jr., “Byzantine Δημοκρατία and the Guilds in
the Eleventh Century,” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 17 (1963), pp. 291–92
offered a lively translation of this passage that echoes in the text above.
10. Leonora Neville, Heroes and Romans in Twelfth-Century Byzantium: The
Material for History of Nikephoros Bryennios (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2012) for a wonderful survey of that process.
11. Anna Komnene, Alexiad, p. 15, line 20; p. 16, line 48.
CHAPTER 11
Piety, Tax-Heavens and the Future

of the Family
The Monastery and Its Links to the Aristocracy

Approaching the 60th year of his life, at the end of the seventh decade
of the eleventh century, Michael Attaleiates had a lot to be proud of.
He had served three consecutive administrations as advisor to the crown
and had been a member of the senate for some twenty years. He held
impressive titles alluding to the glorious republican past of the Roman
Empire, and above all, he was respected at court. He had achieved that
while remaining true to his core beliefs regarding the proper governance
of the state. Survival in the competitive world of the Byzantine court
required that he occasionally adjust his rhetoric and toss a sycophantic
word or two toward those emperors who kept rewarding him for his loy-
alty, yet his writings reveal a man who knew what was right and kept
pursuing it to the end. In the late 1070s, Attaleiates was close to the old,
largely “sedentary,” and inactive Emperor Nikephoros Botaneiates; yet,
at the same time he kept an eye on the political horizon for the man who
would take the reigns of the state and save it, a task which had tragically
eluded his first imperial patron, the betrayed Romanos IV Diogenes.
In this period of perpetual military crisis, Attaleiates also sought prop-
erly to organize his assets in an effort to guarantee for his son Theodore
the safest possible future. This process was not unrelated to his interest
in politics and the contacts he appears to have maintained with the aris-
tocratic family of the Komnenoi. In fact even as he wove in the History
a carefully constructed encomium to Botaneiates, offering underhanded

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_11
204 D. KRALLIS
praise to the emperor while embedding in the same lines an elaborate cri-
tique of his policies, Attaleiates also developed the first-known panegyric to
the man who as emperor was to indeed save the empire. Alexios Komnenos,
the head of the empire’s military forces, entrusted by Botaneiates with the
task of defeating all threats to his reign, becomes the hero of the History’s
last pages. Attaleiates’ flirtation with the idea of Alexios as the savior of
the polity is carefully outlined in the History. Like a propaganda campaign
designed to alert the audience of a coming policy change through carefully
placed editorials, timely organized conferences on the issue at hand, and
conveniently timed media leaks of classified information, Attaleiates slowly
prepared the reader for an event that is not described in the History, yet
takes place very soon after its first readers flip its last page.
Years of classical training and a career in the Byzantine court had
accustomed Attaleiates to the arts of Aesopian writing and safe cri-
tique. Even as he praised Botaneiates, who rewarded him for his loy-
alty, he was signaling to the Komnenoi that he was to be their man in
the approaching power contest. As with the more historical part of his
writings, Attaleiates followed a simple recipe in the construction of his
encomium to Botaneiates. He offered the emperor all the flowery adjec-
tives bound to attract his attention, while soberly piling up the facts that
constituted Alexios Komnenos’ praise. To make things more interesting,
he did that not just in the pages of his book but also in the words of
praise he addressed to the emperor in the presence of the full comple-
ment of the senate. After Alexios Komnenos returned victorious from his
campaign against the usurper Nikephoros Bryennios in 1077, Attaleiates
composed and delivered an oration in honor of the victorious emperor
and his right-hand man, who did the actual fighting. We can easily
reconstruct the scene in the imperial halls; the senate assembled before
the emperor’s throne to hear Attaleiates’ account of the events. A dec-
ade after his promotion to the rank of patrikios by the warrior emperor
Romanos Diogenes in the less than ceremonial space of the army’s mus-
ter station, the judge was back at center stage, only this time as the con-
ductor of praise. The oration he offered has echoes in the History, which
most likely used parts to relay the events of Botaneiates’ reign. Here,
we have the senate, the emperor, and his general in a great imperial hall
arranged in a way that amplified the effects of Attaleiates’ words. Every
adjective of praise addressed to the emperor heightened the dissonance
between the image of an old man sitting on the throne and the military
11 PIETY, TAX-HEAVENS AND THE FUTURE OF THE FAMILY 205
successes attributed to him. Every time the words “strong,” “intelli-

gent,” and “martial” rung in the hall, one saw a placid old man with gray
hair and wrinkly face sitting at the most prominent place in the room.
In contrast, Attaleiates’ references to the triumphant general, the agent
of Botaneiates’ success rung true, as the crowd attending the ceremony
turned its eyes to the young and vigorous Komnenos.1
In charting the basis for Attaleiates’ relationship with the Komnenoi,
it is fruitful to follow the money. As with modern newspaper editori-
als promoting one or another political, social, or cultural goal, we are
bound to ask if there is evidence of a possible quid pro quo. In our
case, it seems that such evidence lies hidden in plain sight in Attaleiates’
monastic charter. The text with which the judge sought to organize
the social and economic life of the estates placed under his monastery
of Christ Panoiktirmon offers evidence, a smoking gun if you wish, for
a Komnenoi–Attaleiates relationship. In the list of properties attached
to the monastery, Attaleiates records an estate known as Monokellion.
This plot of land once belonged to the nun Xene Komnene, a mem-
ber of the Komnenian circle. Xene was in fact the name that Theodora
Komnene, the sister of Alexios, assumed after the death of her husband
Konstantinos Diogenes (died 1074), the son of Romanos Diogenes.
Attaleiates’ monastery received the estate after a donation on the part of
Xene, approved by her mother Anna Dalassene, the grand matriarch of
the Komnenoi clan.
Anna Dalassene is known to readers’ of Anna Komnene’s Alexiad as
the pillar of the Komnenoi. She was, however, also a staunch supporter
of Romanos Diogenes, the man who had given wings to Attaleiates’
career. Other historians record that when Anna’s son Manuel died and
there was no Komnenos to fight for the empire next to the emperor,
Anna sent the fifteen-year-old Alexios to Romanos, who was at the time
preparing to head out for his Mantzikert campaign. Romanos returned
the boy to his mother thanking her for her family’s commitment
and ensuring that she would not have to suffer the loss of yet another
son.2 Shortly after, Anna was tried and exiled by Michael VII’s regime
for being in contact with Romanos’ during the latter’s futile attempt
to regain the throne that the Doukas family had usurped while he was
held captive by the Sultan Alp Arslan. Attaleiates’ monastery received
those Komnenian benefactions at a time after the founder’s death. Yet,
the association of the Komnenoi with the Panoiktirmon complex points
to relationships that require scrutiny. Apart from this piece of land, it
206 D. KRALLIS
appears that the monastery received after Attaleiates’ death silver objects
from Manuel Boutoumites, a military commander and Komnenos loy-
alist. In fact already before the reign of Botaneiates, Attaleiates ensured
that the names of Xene, Anna, and of the deceased Konstantinos
Diogenes would be commemorated in his monastery. In both Raidestos
and Constantinople, on Attaleiates’ property, the memory of a Diogenes
and that of the Komnenoi was celebrated.3 There could be no clearer
statement of loyalty but also no less ambiguous evidence that Attaleiates
saw in the Komnenoi the future of the empire.
It would not be idle speculation to attempt a reconstruction of the
conditions under which Attaleiates’ relationship to the Komnenoi began.
The opportunities for interactions between the judge and members of
the family would have been numerous and most likely started when
under the command of Romanos IV Diogenes, Alexios’ brother Manuel
found himself in the emperor’s campaign tent, alongside Attaleiates.
The high-ranking commander likely interacted with the military judge
in the long hours of military meetings and strategy sessions. It is even
probable that Manuel witnessed Attaleiates moment of candor, when in
1069 the judge was asked to express his opinion before Romanos’ chiefs
of staff. We know from Attaleiates himself that he had personally con-
versed with the emperor who had described for him past campaigns.
Similar moments of storytelling and socializing likely involved Manuel
Komnenos and later his brother Alexios. It is in fact conceivable that
Attaleiates’ backhanded praise of Botaneiates with its factual compo-
nent of solid pro-Komnenos narrative was produced at the instigation of
Alexios Komnenos, who could use Attaleiates’ work as a medium for the
presentation of the Komnenian message at court. The money trail lends
a certain degree of credence to such suspicions. Like a modern pundit,
Attaleiates used history and oratory to prepare the ground for the rise of
the Komnenoi even as he ostensibly praised the reigning emperor.
The Komnenoi were the future and Attaleiates bet on them. He
was not, however, a man to leave things to chance, and he took con-
crete measures to ensure that his son Theodore would be well provided
with. Central to his strategy was the foundation of the monastery of
Christ Panoiktirmon. With the Diataxis, Attaleiates placed a significant
part of his fortune under the nominal control of the monastery. And yet
only part of the revenue from the monastery’s holdings, roughly one-
third, was tied to its operational costs. The remainder was to remain in
Theodore’s hands to be used as he saw fit. In short what to the eyes of
a casual observer looked like an expression of piety, proved upon closer

inspection to be a carefully orchestrated scheme leading to the creation
of a haven for the revenues of the Attaleiatai.4
The Emperor Nikephoros Botaneiates, who rewarded Attaleiates with
a number of honorary titles tied to significant income streams, under-
stood well the judge’s financial strategy and was happy to assist him in
that. His thinking is registered on the imperial decree attached at the
very end of the Diataxis that outlines the exemptions and preferen-
tial treatment granted to Attaleiates’ land. In the preface to his decree
Botaneiates, or perhaps the clerk preparing the decree on the emperor’s
behalf notes:
even a solid [edifice] often needs a support, so that it may become

stronger. For example, sometimes we support a trench with walls and
encircle a city with a double circuit wall, and this procedure is not incom-
patible with [the concern for] perfection. Therefore the magistros has
resolved on this circumspect and shrewd [procedure]. He decided to
approach our majesty for confirmation, since he knew that an imperial
decree which confirms [a previous] decree has even greater weight.5
This statement suggests that the imperial chancery and perhaps the
emperor himself scrutinized and carefully read the texts and ideas
put forward by courtiers like Attaleiates. Imperial decrees like the one
excerpted here were not simply legal texts, lists of privileges, and bureau-
cratic clauses. The rhetoric embedded in them was part of the formalized
communication between emperor and subject. Botaneiates recognized
here the basic parameters of Attaleiates’ family strategy. He understood
that the monastery was a way to protect his property from the state’s
tax officials. He also approved of the prudent quest for renewal of older
concessions. On a deeper level, the emperor was aware of Attaleiates’
fascination with military history and couched his recognition of his sub-
ject’s desire for security in the language of military preparedness, which
as a military man, albeit an old and retired one, he had digested well.
Security then was Attaleiates’ central concern at a time when everything
but his booming career seemed to be in flux, mostly pointing toward cri-
sis and demise.
Attaleiates’ desire to secure his career and his family’s future is also
reflected in legislation he helped prepare during Botaneiates’ reign.
His legal initiatives dealt with the status of imperial advisors in times
208 D. KRALLIS
of political instability and more specifically in the aftermath of regime

change. One of the concerns in the minds of bureaucrats seeking to
advance their careers was the interesting catch twenty-two they faced as
they sought the necessary courtly connections to promote their personal
interests. Any significant promotion and increase in influence was invar-
iably linked with a person higher up in the administration who had con-
nections to the inner circle around the reigning emperor. Even if your
promotion was earned through sheer administrative competence, in the
eyes of the other members of the political establishment you were auto-
matically the client of your benefactor and patron; you were in effect
“owned” by your superior. This was not a peculiarly Byzantine phenom-
enon. To our days, party affiliations often taint people’s perceptions of
a functionary’s allegiances and career. The idea of a civil service above
and beyond political contests and confrontations is a very modern notion
and remains a utopian dream for most countries and societies around the
world.
In Romanía, this reality was a recognized part of courtly life, and
yet, it undeniably fostered a feeling of insecurity among the most ambi-
tious of courtiers. Even in times of political stability, the court would
be a competitive and even dangerous environment. A case in point, the
prototypical Byzantine courtier, Michael Psellos, who faced a fair share
of ups and downs in the course of a long and successful career. In the
1050s, he was forced to join a monastery for a number of months to
silence his enemies at court.6 He returned to court a few months later,
yet he had to wear the monastic garb for the rest of his life simply to
keep up appearances. Then, after the early stages of Michael VII’s reign,
despite his role in guaranteeing his student’s hold on the throne and his
participation in the plot to depose Romanos Diogenes, Psellos found
himself marginalized, with the influence of the eunuch Nikephoritzes on
the rise. If a consummate politician like Psellos could suffer marginali-
zation and even expulsion from courtly life under administrations that
were otherwise friendly toward him, then things could turn rather hairy
in periods of political upheaval, like the one that opened with the depo-
sition of Romanos. Michael Doukas’ reign faced a number of rebellions,
while Botaneiates’ time in power was hardly more peaceful. It is there-
fore telling that in this same period of heightened instability Attaleiates
lobbied Nikephoros for legislation that would bind emperors’ hands and
would impose on them a more sober treatment of the members of the
bureaucracy.
Two laws, which Attaleiates discusses in detail in the History, were

enacted at that time explicitly aiming to make the political field safer for
imperial advisors and bureaucrats engaged in policy-making. One was
but a reassertion of an old Theodosian stipulation according to which
an emperor should provide a period of thirty days between the pro-
nouncement of the court verdict against a political enemy and the exe-
cution of the court’s orders.7 The purpose of the law was simple enough.
It sought to avoid violence liable to occur in the heat of the moment
and provide a period of appeal during which the fate of a condemned
man could be decided through pleading, patronal relations, and the slow
deliberation of the courts. Next to this piece of legislation, Attaleiates
discusses another law with which Botaneiates secured the inviolability of
a deposed emperor’s advisors from retributive actions on the part of the
new emperor. While such laws would certainly do little to stay the hand
of a ruler committed to violence, they still indicated a belief on the part
of Attaleiates in the power of the law. He seemed convinced that the law,
when put in writing with the signature of an emperor and the approval
of the senate of the Romans, could be a powerful force that constrained
a ruler within certain boundaries of civility not to say humanity. Laws
protecting bureaucrats and imperial decrees assuring the tax-immunity of
personal property were all, in Attaleiates’ mind, safeguards set up against
potentially arbitrary actions on the part of the emperor.
The Monastery as a Center of Patronage

If laws to some degree shielded Attaleiates from social and political
death, concrete measures, such as the cloaking of his properties by the
protective umbrella of the Panoiktirmon monastery, sought to secure his
family’s continued prominence. There is an interesting parallel between
the monastery and its organization, as understood by Attaleiates, and
the structure of the state. The judge was the head of his own domain,
much like the emperor was head of the state. At the same time, like the
emperor, who though a secular leader, retained the right to directly
intervene in ecclesiastical affairs, Attaleiates guaranteed that though
monks and clergy were involved in the business of the monastery, it was
himself and his son who had the final say on its operations. There was
no abbot and no outside authority to intervene for as long as the mem-
bers of Attaleiates’ family were there to claim control of the monastery’s
incomes.8 The structure of the monastery itself mirrored Romanía’s
210 D. KRALLIS
bureaucracy, the monks being eunuchs trained in arithmetic, account-

ing, and the law. Reading the Diataxis’ stipulations, one gets a sense
that Attaleiates wished to recruit men who had, at least to some extent,
shared his experience of service to the state. Those men, with their sec-
retarial and scribal skills, were also likely involved in the recording and
even development of Attaleiates’ intellectual projects. It is probable that
the paper copy of the History, registered in the monastery’s library col-
lection, was a product of the Panoiktirmon’s scriptorium, paper being a
material used in the bureaucracy and ideal for the cheaper and faster dis-
semination of texts. In fact, the man whom Attaleiates entrusted with the
task of administering the monastery’s finances was also likely involved
with the monastic scriptorium. Bearing the founder’s name, Michael ful-
filled successfully the task of oikonomos and eventually, once Attaleiates’
son died, became abbot of the monastery and participated in important
ecclesiastical events of Alexios Komnenos’ reign. His religious func-
tions aside, Michael was an able copyist, likely involved in the copying of
Flavius Josephus’ accounts of the fall of Jerusalem, a historical text also
included in Attaleiates’ monastic library.9 Since the monastery operated
a scriptorium, quite possibly, already from the founder’s time, we need
to look at the copying activities of this institution as yet another possible
source of income for the Attaleiatai.
The monastery also functioned as a retirement home for men with
whom the judge had developed a lifelong relationship. Thus, Ioannes,
Attaleiates’ spiritual father, was offered a position in the monastery with
a comfortable salary, cell, and meals. As we run through the pages of the
Diataxis, an interesting outline emerges of this institution’s social com-
position. Attaleiates offers clear instructions regarding the recruitment
and compensation of the people living on his property. Seven monks
were to be inducted in this monastery, the number being according to
the founder a mystical, “virginal” number, the only one which can nei-
ther “give birth nor be born.” Among those monks, Attaleiates includes
the steward (oikonomos) of the monastery and the gatekeeper. We are also
told that at the time when the charter was compiled Attaleiates did not
think the resources of the monastery adequate for the maintenance of all
seven men. He had therefore only taken in five.
One of the reasons why it had proved difficult to recruit all seven of
the monks stipulated in the typikon may have been Attaleiates’ desire
to keep his monastery staffed with “high quality” persons. These men
were recruited from among the notaries, accountants, and lawyers of the
capital or even, conceivably of Raidestos. Given their professional back-

ground, they would have expected slightly more than the tough regi-
ment of strict monastic institutions. Attaleiates’ rule may thus ban parties
and celebrations that would detract from the seriousness of the monas-
tery’s operation, yet at the same time maintained a comfortable lifestyle
for those living within the foundation’s walls. If a poor Byzantine laborer
would have to make do with a salary of four or five gold coins a year
from which he had to eek out a precarious existence for himself and his
family, Attaleiates’ monks were instead rather well fed. According to the
Diataxis, the crew of the Panoiktirmon received according to rank:
a. The superior: twelve nomismata, forty-eight modioi of wheat, and

thirty-six measures of wine
b. The officials: eight nomismata, thirty modioi, and twenty-four
measures of wine each
c. The priests: seven nomismata, thirty modioi, and twenty-four meas-
ures of wine each
d. The others: six nomismata, thirty modioi, and twenty-four meas-
ures of wine each
Furthermore, each monk would receive three extra modioi of wheat to

distribute over the year at the monastery’s gate. There were an additional
three nomismata for the superior and two apiece for the others, ear-
marked for unspecified needs, while the crew also received three modioi of
legumes and one nomisma each for oil. Once more, the superior appears
to be doing slightly better than the others receiving two nomismata.10
The quantities prescribed make for a respectable diet and raise an
important question regarding the role of salaries in the context of
monastic life. If the monastery’s lands covered the monk’s yearly needs
in food and wine, then what was the function of the salary that topped
up their daily rations? What were Attaleiates’ expectations regarding
the interaction of those men with the outside world? It is in fact rather
ironic that Attaleiates constructed a leisurely monastic retreat, given
the opinions he harbored and openly expressed in the History on the
issue of monastic life. In that very different context, he had noted that
by despoiling monasteries of their wealth emperor Isaakios Komnenos
offered the monks the opportunity to live a life of true ascetic privation.
Somehow, twenty years later that was clearly not the case with the monks
living in his institution.11
212 D. KRALLIS
The thirty modioi of wheat stipulated by the Diataxis corresponded to

roughly 320 kilos of wheat per year (13.667 litters per modios, 0.78 kilos
of wheat per litter). Given medieval levels of consumption, which ranged
around two pounds of bread per person in the western part of Europe
(218 kilos of wheat per year), we clearly see that Attaleiates’ monks were
reasonably provisioned, the monastery furnishing them with healthy por-
tions of bread. To this quantity, we must add the provision of legumes,
of oil, and of money to be used for supplementing the diet of the monks.
Thus, the two nomismata offered for the procurement of the rest of their
food were more than adequate for the purchase of fish, meats, and all
manner of other goods from the capital’s market. Though there is no
surviving document from Attaleiates’ monastery, precisely regulating
diet, we can be sure that the monks in this establishment had to fast for
a significant number of days of the year, thus ensuring that the already
adequate supply of provisions was stretched over the longest possible
amount of time.12
The monks’ diet as vaguely outlined in the Diataxis had very signifi-
cant social implications. On the one hand, it linked the “Holy Men” to
the tenants on Attaleiates’ lands who produced the wheat necessary for
their daily bread, thus guaranteeing that the monks retained an interest
in the perpetuation of the tenancy regime. This offered Attaleiates’ fam-
ily better control over its estate and easier extraction of the revenues that
would fund its social, political, and economic aspirations. It was in the
interest of the monks to protect the monastery and its property, while
using their clout to support Attaleiates and his heir in their effort to
shield the property from external challenges. Yet even as the quest for
the daily bread reinforced the links between the patron and his crew
of holy men, the realities of provisioning ensured the exposure of the
monks to the Constantinopolitan market, which they needed to visit in
order to procure the comestibles that featured on their breakfast, lunch,
and dinner plate. The metallic equivalent of roughly fourteen to twenty
gold coins changed hands on a yearly basis in the markets located in the
vicinity of the monastery. With daily transactions involving, over a period
of a year, roughly five and a half thousand copper folleis, the Byzantine
coin of day-to-day transactions, Attaleiates’ monks embedded themselves
in the economy of southwestern Constantinople.
Alongside the dietary needs of the monastery’s residents, there were
also the provisions distributed by the monks to the needy residents of
the Psamatheia neighborhood. At the door of the monastery, each
monk dispensed over a year the equivalent of three gold coins in bread.
Personal relationships between Attaleiates’ holy men and the neighbor-
hood poor were carved on loaves of bread. A number of families were
thus “tied” to the monastic economy, drawing a more or less signif-
icant portion of their yearly sustenance from the hands of the monks.
Much like the doorstep of an ancient patrician household, operating as
the point of interaction between the wealthy patron and his clients, the
gate leading into the courtyard of the Panoiktirmon was a space were
Attaleiates’ monks acted as guardians of the sacred bonds linking the
courtier to the society around him.
To the alms distributed at the door of the monastery, one must add
the grants dispensed within the walls of the poorhouse at Raidestos to
eighteen beneficiaries who received 136 liters of wheat each per year.13
While we know little regarding the composition of this group of people,
Attaleiates opens a window of interpretation with his discussion of the
pension to be paid to the servants of his monks. The reference to serv-
ants in itself confirms our original suspicion that the men entering the
monastery were not commoners, but rather people of some substance.
It is quite understandable that someone like Michael the steward of the
monastery, seriously engaged in the task of copying manuscripts for the
long of the day, enjoyed the assistance of his own servants in the per-
formance of his other monastic duties. According to the Diataxis, those
servants, should they be deemed worthy of it, were to enjoy the bene-
fits of a pension from the monastery, which in fact was tantamount to
their induction among the group of individuals receiving food subsidies
from the Panoiktirmon’s monks. This in itself raises questions regarding
the social footprint of the monastery. One is compelled to ask how many
servants were part of this monastic dole and how many of the monas-
tery’s supported poor were not in fact members of the households of
the Panoiktirmon’s holy crew. The relationship between the servants
and the monastery, and by extension Attaleiates’ family is fascinating as
it highlights the circle of influence and alliances radiating from his house-
hold. The judge seemed intent upon keeping the households of his
monks within the orbit of his family’s relations. By allowing, though not
demanding, the transfer to the monastery of properties belonging to his
monks and then facilitating the induction of their servants in his institu-
tion, Attaleiates expanded the material basis on which the provisioning of
the monastery depended, while at the same time guaranteeing the recy-
cling of the monastery’s resources among men loyal to his family.
214 D. KRALLIS
On a practical level, one has to ask whether those servants were dom-
iciled in the monastery itself, or whether they were present only during
certain hours of the day, spending the rest of their time in their own
homes. Attaleiates’ concern about the servants may have stemmed from
the nature of the men he was recruiting for his monastery. It is conceiva-
ble that the eunuchs of the Panoiktirmon were faced upon retirement in
Attaleiates’ institution with the extinction of their household. Not hav-
ing children to leave their property to, they would essentially be leav-
ing their servants in the cold upon their death. By providing for their
servants, Attaleiates essentially recognized this reality and ensured that
no hardship would befall men who had dedicated their lives to loyally
serving their masters.
It appears then that more than a philanthropic venture aimed at
reinforcing Attaleiates’ ties with the divine, the monastery operated as
a formal pension scheme for men whose services Attaleiates had come
to rely on over the years. The Monk Anthony, his namesake, the eccle-
siarch Anthony, and the steward Michael were all men close to his heart.
So was the praipositos Ioannes, Attaleiates’ secretary, who was also num-
bered among the monastery’s donors. As for the rest of his holy crew,
they were all to be recruited from among notaries, lawyers, and account-
ants, whom Attaleiates would have known through his many years as a
member of the courts of justice. One might even wonder whether it was
in effect paralegals and lower level bureaucrats from Constantinople’s
courts and the imperial palace that the Panoiktirmon sought to house.
The suggestion makes some sense.
The importance of the monastery’s function as an interface between
Attaleiates and his son, on the one hand, and the society around them,
on the other, is best seen in the instructions Attaleiates left regarding the
role of the monastery’s steward, the Monk Michael, who was evidently a
man he truly trusted. Michael was an intellectual with very similar inter-
ests to those of Attaleiates himself. He was clearly instructed to operate
as an agent of the Attaleiatai, ensuring that at any moment he would do
the bidding of Attaleiates’ “beloved son and heir in all things.”14 For
that, Michael was given a higher salary than the others as well as greater
provision of wheat and wine. Michael’s management of the monastery’s
economic and philanthropic activities was defined as a task pleasing to his
patron. Everything that the monastery was achieving at the social level
was for the benefit of its owners.
One could speculate on the issue of Attaleiates’ social connections,

and as we saw above, there is compelling evidence of his links to the
aristocratic Komnenoi. One of the central duties of the steward Michael
was therefore the proper celebration of the memory of Konstantinos
Diogenes, his wife Theodora and of Anna Dalassene herself. Significantly,
those individuals were to be commemorated on the same days when
Attaleiates celebrated the memory of his parents, his two wives, and
two other men, Basileios and Leon. While Leon remains unidentifi-
able, Basileios could very well be Attaleiates’ close friend Maleses.15
Attaleiates’ household advertised to everyone in Constantinople its loy-
alty to the Komnenoi by celebrating the memory of certain among them
on the same day that the neighborhood remembered the patrons of their
local monastery.
In a small church on the southwestern side of the Queen of Cities,
every Saturday, the local inhabitants gathered in expectation of alms
and favors from their local senator. Attaleiates frequented the imperial
court. He was a man often in the presence of the emperor and a judge
with influence in Constantinople’s legal apparatus. If one needed advise
on legal issues or maybe even hoped to gain access to some of the pal-
ace’s movers and shakers, that person would conceivably come to him
seeking assistance. Much like Michael Psellos writing letters to officials
and directly contacting the emperor on behalf of his friends and, dare I
say clients, Attaleiates would have created a circle of people who relied
on his influence, courtly connections, and wealth. All those coming to
visit would have the opportunity to attend mass and in the course of
the religious ceremony be given a short primer on their patron’s friends
and connections. The names of Basileios Maleses, of select Komnenoi,
with the matriarch of the family Anna Dalassene most prominent among
them, and of a dead military hero, Konstantinos Diogenes, son of the
betrayed emperor Romanos, along with those of Attaleiates’ family filled
the church in the chanting voice of the judge’s own priests.16
Next to the senator stood the next generation, his son Theodore, an
imperial notary and dishypatos, yet another man in expensive courtly fin-
ery, the person to whom Attaleiates had entrusted the administration
of the monastery. Two generations of courtly influence now joined this
pious congregation in prayer. The future of the Attaleiates family stood
before the congregants next to the successful father, conceivably accom-
panied by his own group of friends from the court and from among the
world of the imperial administration. The scene would in no-way have
216 D. KRALLIS
been peculiar to the Attaleiatai. All around the capital, in hundreds of

small or larger churches, some privately owned like Attaleiates’, others
not, the city’s upper class congregated and in similar ceremonies recon-
structed within what was often privatized sacred space, myriad networks
of localized influence that connected in an informal fashion the world of
the court with the population of the city. The needs, desires, and con-
cerns of the city’s population worked their way up to the desks of the
emperor’s officials through the oblique highway of patron-client rela-
tions and neighborhood influence grids.
As this diverse congregation entered the Church of Saint John the
Forerunner in the Panoiktirmon monastic complex, their field of vision
was filled with evidence of Attaleiates’ taste and spiritual sensitivity. In a
straight line from the entry, they could see the altar cover, a green silk
fabric with decorations of young horses and double-headed lions. On the
altar stood a silver-gilt chalice. Next to it was a paten on which to place
the Eucharist Host, a spoon and a number of other implements essen-
tial for communion. Frequent visitors to Attaleiates’ church would have
noted that the paten and chalice were part of a set that used to belong
to the Monk Romanos, who had them inscribed with a call for divine
assistance. Attaleiates had evidently not procured custom-made liturgical
objects but rather chose to shop from Constantinople’s well-developed
market for secondhand church plate and ecclesiastical accouterments.
Incense rose toward the church’s ceiling from a silver censer in the shape
of a rider on horseback, an apt image for a church belonging to a man
with a history of service in the army, well connected to the empire’s mil-
itary class. The doors separating the holy of holies from the rest of the
church were decorated with silver capitals bearing the images of Christ
and the Mother of God, while the columns of the doors on the templon
were made of material similar to the one on the altar cloth, reinforcing the
equestrian theme in the decoration of the church.17 Before the templon
stood at least one icon of St John the Forerunner. Attaleiates’ monastery
possessed two of those, one unframed made of wood and one crafted out
of bronze with a silver-gilt frame. The latter was dedicated to the monas-
tery by Attaleiates’ secretary, the praipositos Ioannes. This same man had
also offered two silk cloths: one in two shades of purple decorated with
peacocks, pistachio colored borders, and lining; one of brilliant white with
vine tendril decorations. On feast days, the latter was supposed to be used
as a cover for the head of St. John and the former to hang below the icon.
On regular days, a less expensive curtain covered this icon.
The Church of St. John the Forerunner and the Panoiktirmon mon-
astery physically attached to it were linked to the founder’s poorhouse in
Raidestos and enjoyed revenues from Attaleiates’ properties in Thrace. In
a sense, the monastery was part of a network of spaces on which it cast a
shadow of sanctity. On occasion, the properties themselves owned by the
monastery were sources of sanctity. Thus, on the estate of Phletra there was
according to Nikephoros Botaneiates’ scribes, who registered this emper-
or’s grant of immunity to Attaleiates’ monastery, a miraculous spring. It
would be surprising if Attaleiates, or members of his household did not
transfer water from this spring to the church in the capital, where it would
surely make for extra-strength holy water. The reference to the spring in
the imperial document granted to Attaleiates showed awareness on the part
of the emperor and his men, of Attaleiates’ claim on this holy spot.18
Attaleiates was not a member of the empire’s class of superrich estate
holders. He did not belong to the military aristocracy of the provinces,
a class that could mobilize large personal retinues and challenge the
authority of emperors. The power and influence of the Komnenoi and
their allies was of a wholly different scale, when compared to that of men
of Attaleiates stature. That said Attaleiates’ imprint on the social land-
scape of the capital was not insignificant. While there were only a few
families like the Komnenoi, who could by themselves raise the standard
of rebellion in a distant province and fight their way to the throne of the
Romans, there were hundreds if not thousands of men like Attaleiates
represented in the Constantinopolitan senate. Such men dotted the map
of the capital and the provinces with their households, estates, and other
holdings and built extensive networks of patronage and economic as well
as social interdependence on the empire’s lands. It is a tribute to these
men and their aspirations that we thus read Attaleiates’ life and study his
social and economic strategies.
Notes
2. Nikephoros Bryennios, Material for a History I.12 in Paul Gautier
(ed. and trans.), Nicéphore Bryennios, Histoire (Bruxelles: Byzantion,
1975), p. 105, lines 1–16.
4. Paul Lemerle, Cinq études sur le XIe siècle byzantin (Paris, 1977),
pp. 65–113 here 110–11.
218 D. KRALLIS

6. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, pp. 3–10 for a short
biography of Psellos.
7. Attaleiates, History, pp. 569–81, Bekker 312–19 on Botaneiates’ legal
work; Ludwig Burgmann, “A Law for Emperors: Observations on a
Chrysobull of Nikephoros III Botaneiates,” in New Constantines: The
Rhythm of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium, ed. Paul Magdalino (London:
Ashgate-Variorum, 1994), pp. 247–58, esp. pp. 253 and 256.
9. Krallis, Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline, p. 32, note
128 on said Michael.
12. “The Regulation of Diet in the Byzantine Monastic Foundation
Documents,” in John Thomas and Angela Constantinides Hero (ed.),
Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: A Complete Translation of
the Surviving Founder’s Typika and Testaments (Washington, 2000),
pp. 1696–716.
16. Attaleiates, Diataxis, pp. 349, 360 on Anna and Konstantinos, p. 360 for
Xene.
17. Attaleiates, Diataxis, p. 357 for all this material as listed in inventory 6.
CHAPTER 12
Culture Wars and a Judge’s Roman Piety
Sometime in the middle of the eleventh century, Michael Psellos sent

the metropolitan of Chalkedon a gift. It was a religious icon painted
on wood, apparently not one of significant monetary value. The recip-
ient somehow failed to appreciate it and so in a letter to him, Psellos
expressed his frustration with his rejection of the gift. Psellos being
Psellos did not leave things at that and developed his own thoughts on
religious icons:
On your holy soul, I actually rob them from churches. Indeed, I have sto-
len many from sanctuaries and at first I escaped everyone’s notice, Leaving
with them clasped in my arms, but later on, when I came under suspicion,
I immediately denied it on oath. But I have clung on to those faint pic-
tures, because they represent the painter’s art. I have a collection of such
boards, mostly without gold or silver, resembling some of the new sena-
tors, who have neither crosses nor robes. Yet I do not suffer when I give
them away.1
This letter has received the attention of scholars, who have used it to dis-
cuss Byzantine attitudes toward art.2 Here we have an art lover offering
evidence that individuals were in possession of small collections of icons.
We also have clear attestation of the exchange of religious icons as private
gifts. And yet there is also another issue emerging from this letter. Here
a medieval Roman, ostensibly a Christian, unabashedly admits in an epis-
tle to a leader of the Church that he steals religious icons from churches

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_12
220 D. KRALLIS
and, what is more, when confronted with people’s suspicions, is ready

to lie about his temple robbing under oath. In Psellos’ letter, the sacred
icon is no longer a conduit to God’s truth but an object of aesthetic
appreciation and desire, the act of stealing is now a means to a beautiful
end, and the most holy oath, but a pragmatic get-out-of-jail card. In this
new order of meaning earthly beauty and the art of the human creator
stand above sin, truth, and holiness.
Psellos is similarly, if not so obviously, transgressive in his account of
the virtuoso orator, the Monk Ioannes Kroustoulas.3 In this text, Psellos’
focus is on the rhetorical brilliance of one of Constantinople’s star ora-
tors. The stage for Ioannes’ performance is the Church of Holy Soros
and his audience is tightly packed in the building. Having described
Ioannes’ skill, mode of delivery, and rhetorical persona in detail, Psellos
also notes that
no one among those present has come here (to say something rather bold)
for the sake of spiritual grace or to reap spiritual fruits. Rather, they have
come for this man that you see reading, offering pleasure. Just like some-
one who enters a meadow in bloom and sees there many and different
flowers and fruits is delighted in his soul, often leaps with joy, and picks
some of these, so also do we.4
Here we find ourselves in God’s own house, before a large congrega-

tion of Christians, of whom not one—at least on this occasion—was in
the business of spiritual edification and growth. Psellos admits that his
statement was rather bold, yet nevertheless goes on to claim that his fel-
low listeners were in it for entertainment and the sheer pleasure listening
raptly at a good speech. Furthermore, their appreciation of Ioannes’ rhe-
torical genius is likened to the entirely natural human reaction to earthly
beauty.
Both vignettes are notable for implicating others in Psellos’ transgres-
sions. In his epistolary discussion of icons, the philosopher makes the
bishop his accomplice and assumes that the man of God would do noth-
ing to expose his interlocutor. In the praise of Ioannes Kroustoulas, a
whole gaggle of Constantinopolitans, both savants and commoners, join
Psellos in a purely aesthetic experience, shedding any pretense of piety in
their pursuit of pleasure. On both occasions the spiritual and the mate-
rial, the holy and the simply beautiful are entangled in an unexpected
dance.
12 CULTURE WARS AND A JUDGE’S ROMAN PIETY 221
We encountered a different version of this entanglement when dis-

cussing Attaleiates’ monastery as the intersection of material, social,
intellectual, and spiritual interests. Here we saw a constellation of tem-
poral concerns mapped on the sacred geography of the judge’s pious
foundation. Care for family, colleagues, and clients appears to be guiding
Attaleiates’ language of piety. If piety, however, could be a means to tem-
poral goals, if a church building could be the stage for scintillating rhet-
oric, valued strictly for its beauty and strength, and if a monastery was
a vehicle for secular success and safety, then what of Attaleiates’—or for
that matter Psellos’—actual faith? Such discussion of an individual’s rela-
tionship with God and the Church must take place within the broader
matrix of eleventh-century intellectual developments. In the fifty or so
years from the death of Basileios II in 1025 to the crowing of Alexios
I Komnenos in 1081, the Byzantines fought important “culture wars.”5
In the middle of that century the very same Michael Psellos with whom
we opened this chapter, at the time still going by his baptismal name
Konstantinos, was accused of heresy and Hellenism by circles in the pal-
ace closely linked to the imperious patriarch Michael Keroularios.6
Impugning the faith of a public figure was another way of seeking his
exclusion from the charmed circle of the court. Offering a member of
the church a written confession to having stolen icons from churches for
the sake of their aesthetic beauty was at the time but a minor one of
Psellos’ many infractions. In a world where the spiritual and the temporal
were supposed to be neatly entangled, the emperor, God’s lieutenant on
earth, could not be seen spending time with men of dubious religious
credentials. To counter the whisper campaign against him Psellos offered
most public proof of his orthodox beliefs. In his case, there was no better
way to establish his innocence than by joining his most ardent enemies,
abandoning secular life, and retreating in a monastery. A few months
later, having established his orthodox credentials, he was once again at
court. Were one to raise questions, emperors could now point to the phi-
losopher’s black monastic frock as proof of his faith in Christ.
The case of Psellos is not a diversion from the discussion of
Attaleiates’ religious experience. The philosopher and his teachings lie at
the very center of the eleventh-century “culture wars.” Psellos’ interest
in nature, in the occult, omens, Platonic philosophy, Hellenic literature,
erotic novels, and all things pagan amplified tensions that marked life in
Romanía ever since Constantine joined the Roman state and Christianity
in an indissoluble bond, imposing on the Church and its leaders an
222 D. KRALLIS
uneasy accommodation with the intellectual universe of the elite, a uni-

verse steeped in classical learning. This long coexistence between classi-
cal aesthetics and wisdom on the one hand and Christian doctrine on
the other had been made possible by figures such as the philosopher
Origen (third century CE) and the bishop Basil of Caesarea (fourth
century CE), who from early on alerted Christians to the value of the
literary and philosophical production of the Greeks and the Romans.7
This coexistence, however, much like the relationship between science
and religion in today’s world, was not always smooth. In the sixth cen-
tury, Prokopios had to carefully hide his paganism behind a screen of
Christian piety, lest he lose favor with his mighty patron Belisarios and
the emperor, the pious Justinian. In the early years of the tenth century,
Leon Choirosphaktes was less lucky, when his interests in astrology, all
very well rationalized within a Christian intellectual context, proved ade-
quate ammunition for his political enemies at court. Psellos could look
back to those men and many others like them and reflect on the dangers
faced by those pushing the boundaries of intellectual exploration.
In Psellos’ mind, the main enemies of “rational” inquiry were those
same men he was forced to join on the Bithynian Mount Olympus in
order to save himself from his detractors: the monks, or as he often
mockingly referred to them, the Naziraioi.8 Next to the monks one
could add a whole new brand of spirituality, which was promoted at the
time by the popular Niketas Stethatos, an influential monk at the mon-
astery of Stoudios in Constantinople, occasional ally of populist anti-
Latin agitator, the patriarch Michael Keroularios. Niketas and his hero,
the deceased mystic Symeon the New Theologian, represented the oppo-
site pole to Psellos’ flamboyant intellectualism and confidence in human
reason.
If Psellos was, in his own words, attracted to earthly concerns,
Stethatos was a representative of a contemplative nearly disembodied
human praxis.9 As far as Psellos was concerned the detached monk and
his ilk was an insult to humanity and in his writings he made sure that
his opponents knew about it. We should not, however, give into mod-
ern assumptions regarding Byzantine piety and assume that Symeon and
Niketas were universally popular. Before Psellos ever wrote, Symeon
had faced the scorn of Hellenists in both Church and public administra-
tion. His biographer, the fawning Niketas, unwittingly gives us a sense
of existing divisions within the Orthodox community itself. The mystic’s
enemies were not in this case some godless cabal of secular humanists.
They were rather respected clergymen in positions of influence. One of

them, the former metropolitan of Nikomedia and synkellos of the Great
Church, Stephanos of Alexina was
a man superior to most in his speech and knowledge. He not only had
great influence with the patriarch and the emperor but was also able to
provide solutions with fluent speech and a supple tongue to anyone who
asked about novel issues… Stephanos had a very high opinion of himself
and looked down on everybody else, and so he apparently used to mock
the saint’s reputation and disparage those who spoke about Symeon’s
knowledge, calling the saint ignorant and an utter peasant, someone who
was inarticulate and unable to even grunt when faced with wise men who
knew how to make skillful arguments with words.10
Stethatos’ account is fascinating in that it lays out a stark contrast

between two visions of life. On the one hand, Stephanos is a man cut
from a rhetor’s cloth. He was at ease in the “company” of late antique
pagans and surely read their works on oratory to develop his own dic-
tion and mind. His intellectual milieu was that of men like Psellos,
Attaleiates, or Christophoros Mytilinaios. Symeon on the other hand, the
otherworldly boor and hero of Stethatos’ account, represents a vision of
Orthodoxy that is still with us. Mystical and detached from this world—
not unlike the Hesychast movement that followed on its heels two cen-
turies later, this strand of Christianity was not dominant in Romanía.
Psellos eloquently charted the existing intellectual rift in a scornful,
impolitic letter he addressed to the patriarch Michael Keroularios at a
time when the latter was being investigated by imperial authorities for
sedition.
I often hold converse with books, and discover some of their contents by
inquiring and drawing conclusions on the basis of commonly accepted
principles, while the rest, as though I had engaged with the material
myself, is conveyed to me by someone who is an expert, who possesses the
educative art… Hence I thoroughly mastered some areas of philosophy; I
purified my speech through the sophistic arts; I taught my students geom-
etry, and was the first to institute it as a subject; I also discovered some of
the principles of musical theory; I set straight not a few accounts of the
motions that surround the sphere; I also made the science of our beliefs
[Christianity] far more accurate than it had been previously; I expounded
the teachings of theology; I disclosed the depth of allegory; and finally
224 D. KRALLIS
– though may the bolt of malicious envy not strike me! – I made every
science exact… But for you wisdom and theology proceed from different
principles, of which we know nothing, nor are we even acquainted with
them, unless of course you are referring to the “tablets of Zeus.” For you
have neither philosophized, nor learned stereometry, nor ever studied
books. Neither have you come across any wise men, whether Greeks or
barbarians, nor any others, and to us you have plainly appeared to be, as
you would say, absolute science-in-itself and wisdom-in-itself.11
In this letter, Psellos lays out the fundamental differences between an

intellectualized Christianity comfortably ensconced in and ever-nour-
ished by the Greco-Roman cultural placenta on the one hand and the
austere, quasi-ascetic, and anti-intellectual world of Roman mystics. The
culture war outlined here was therefore not one between secularists and
the faithful, as it is often cast in modern political analysis. The rift cut
across the divide between laymen and people of the frock and was as old
as the history of the Christian Roman Empire. As the most eloquent
defender of this form of medieval humanism Psellos became a lightning
rod for conservatives. In the same letter to Patriarch Michael Keroularios
the philosopher explained: “that thing which I am, a logical nature with
a body, I neither could alter or renounce even if I wanted to, nor would
I want to, even if I could.” He then added “I was a lover of philoso-
phy right from the start, while you were practicing those matters that
are above us.”12 Psellos finally complained that the leader of the church,
who shunned his company, disparaged his eloquence and scorned true
culture, also attempted to impose his lifestyle and opinions upon one
who “was neither born for such a life nor has any inclination to pursue
your art.”13
Psellos’ writings, with their ironic criticism of conservative patriarchs,
monks, and their way of life, are therefore part of a longer tradition of
anti-rigorist literature and action.14 His broadsides mostly come in the
form of letters or poems, which were not necessarily always dispatched
to their target but rather circulated among social peers, friends, and
imperial patrons. Smart puns, elegant bile, and vicious retort were in
fact part of the excitement of Romanía’s courtly and political life. How
could a young man like Attaleiates not snicker when he came across
Psellos’ attack of the Monk Sabbaites described among other things as
“a tongue easily bent on blasphemy, a hand open to bribe, a foot swift
on the path of murderous injury, a gut brimming with voraciousness, a
mind empty of thinking yet full of cunning.”15 And if this monk had evi-
dently insulted Psellos, Jacob, another one from among God’s holy crew,
had dared editorialize about the philosopher’s all-too-short stint among
the monks on Mount Olympus. The offense did not go unpunished, it
stirred into action Psellos’ cutting pen, which recorded that “with one
sip you emptied ten cups (oh Jacob), breaking wind you filled a twenty
measure wine-skin, all that remains, is that you gape your mouth and
swallow the sea itself.”16
Psellos’ verses could turn a man into the laughing-stock of polite
Constantinopolitan society, as much as his patronage could open doors.
The Monk Elias was a friend of the philosopher with peculiarly earthly
leanings. In many ways, he was not different from Jacob in his taste for
taverns, banter, wine, and women. Psellos thought that Elias was amus-
ing, unpretentious and, above all, good company. He had a talent for
entertainment and Psellos’ friends were advised to open their homes to
him. Elias, however, was very different from his biblical namesake, the
Prophet Elija, and Psellos has a field day showing how his friend failed to
ever rise toward the skies, burdened as he was with earthly concerns. In
fact, Elias seems to almost come out of a latter day intellectual and artis-
tic tradition, embodying the carnivalesque bawdiness of a Bruegel paint-
ing. His story is that of humanity celebrated in all its gorgeous yet also
lurid details.17
Like Psellos and many other educated Romans, Attaleiates had a
complicated relationship with the tenets of Orthodox Christianity and
the representatives of Christ in the world of the living. From early on
in life he tells us his mother had taught him the word of God and it
is evident in his writings that he had digested the Scriptures and could
speak of God in doctrinally correct fashion. His day-to-day life was also
marked by numerous small instances of direct interaction with religious
images and symbols, from the moment when he put on his signet ring
with the picture of the Virgin Mary on it, to the more formal swearing
of oaths at court and the occasional stop by the Church of St. John the
Forerunner, which he essentially owned, on his homeward journey from
work. He had also been married in church (twice), as had been custom-
ary for medieval Romans ever since the tenth-century Emperor Leon VI
passed legislation obliging young couples to sanctify their contractually
arranged union with the blessing of a priest.18 Then by the end of his
life Attaleiates became the owner of a monastery and helped the poor
of the city of Raidestos through a poorhouse that was directly linked
226 D. KRALLIS
to this pious foundation. On a regular basis, he dealt with the monks

of this establishment and men of God were part of his day-to-day rou-
tine. He was a judge, a man of the world living a secular life, yet he had
more interactions with the realm of faith than even truly religious men or
women would find occasion to have in our times.
Most importantly, there is some evidence that Attaleiates saw the
divine as having a notable role in human affairs. When he narrated
the story of Nikephoros II Phokas’ conquest of Crete (961CE) in the
History, Attaleiates wrote of a naval expedition, of war, sieges, decapitated
Saracens, and yet at the very center of his piece, he placed a feat of piety.
Standing among his troops outside the great Saracen fort of Handakas,
modern-day Herakleion, Nikephoros gave a speech on the importance of
piety. The Christian soldiers had to clearly display their dedication to God
in order to be rewarded with victory. What better way to do so than build
a church, described in detail by Attaleiates who had visited Crete and
had seen the building and in it the murals of the saints, among them the
Emperor Nikephoros himself.19 Here Attaleiates describes for his readers a
rapport with God predicated upon reciprocal obligations. The Christians
behave well and God rewards them. A similar understanding of the rela-
tionship between man and God emerges when he explains his motives for
the foundation of his monastery.
I decided that it was necessary to give “a portion even to eight” “with

a broken and humbled heart,” that is, to the future generation, thanking
the all-merciful God who loves the good, because he brought me forth of
pious and Christ-loving parents, who taught me the very great wisdom of
knowledge of God, and then provided me with sufficient education, first
a general curriculum, then philosophy and rhetoric, and the holy initia-
tion into laws, and furthermore he deemed me worthy of sufficient wealth,
gathering for me a most ample abundance of his earthly blessings.20
Attaleiates deploys the language of reciprocity to explain his decision to

link part of his fortune to a monastery and a poorhouse. At the end of
his career, looking back to a life blessed with success, and thinking ahead
to his son and his position in an increasingly precarious world, he notes
that giving back, even what he conceived as but a small part of what he
had received, was a matter of necessity. Christian piety is well displayed
in this monastic document and would likely convince someone of the
judge’s sincere beliefs.
Attaleiates lived in a period of political upheaval, the empire’s terri-

tories overrun by enemies even as the Roman elites fought bloody civil
wars for control over the increasingly weak polity. Having been born in a
period of affluence, Roman arms dominant on every frontier, and having
lived through years of plenty, in a capital city brimming with the wealth
of the Mediterranean, he sought various explanations for the miserable
condition of the empire in the 1070s. Recourse to a theology of sin and
divine persecution was appealing and at times Attaleiates developed in
the History strands of arguments culminating in divine retribution. Yet
the more one reads Attaleiates’ text, the more the author reveals himself
as a complex thinker, whom one would have difficulty categorizing as
conventionally Christian.21 Attaleiates is pious and apparently believes in
a very personal relationship with God yet in his writings he paints the
divine in peculiar colors.
God in the History punishes the Byzantines for their treacherous and
impious ways and even rewards the barbarians for remaining loyal to
their own customs and being respectful of universal rules of humanity.22
Yet it is precisely at this point that Attaleiates’ idea of the relationship
between God and history becomes complicated. In his monastic char-
ter, Attaleiates poses as the grateful founder of a monastery. He is at the
receiving end of blessings for which he thanks God. Surprisingly, how-
ever, the blessings he enjoyed from the divine had very little to do with
what he himself did in the course of his life to earn them. In fact, we
may be surprised to read in the Diataxis that Attaleiates deemed him-
self a sinner, who had tested God’s patience and expected torment and
punishment in the afterlife.23 Attaleiates’ God is merciful and rewards
him despite his many sins. Yet, this same God did not similarly treat the
Romans of his times, who the judge claims, are collectively punished for
their numerous sins. Such ethical lapses in God’s plan for man had long
been the object of analysis by Byzantine authors. Agathias outlined the
problem in the sixth century when he noted that the great earthquakes
that shook the empire’s capital and provinces in his time had killed
indiscriminately, the wrath of God falling in equal measure on the inno-
cent and the guilty, the virtuous and the sinners.24 Five centuries later,
Psellos highlighted God’s cruelty when he questioned the logic behind
the death of his innocent young daughter, juxtaposing her fate to that
of myriad sinners and criminals. Like Agathias, Psellos offered pious bro-
mides in which to couch his devastating critique of an immoral God.25
228 D. KRALLIS
Ironically, when Attaleiates looked for men who had historically estab-
lished a rewarding relationship with the Supreme Being, those turn out
not be the Christians, but the Romans of antiquity. It is the great heroes
of the Republic who were the most successful Romans in all history,
and Attaleiates clearly traces their success to their piety. They were scru-
pulous in seeking to understand God’s demands and when they occa-
sionally failed in their political and military undertakings they sought to
explain the causes of such failures through careful investigation. When
they detected the act of impiety that caused them grief, those pagan
Romans cleansed the camp and did all that was necessary to court divine
favor. The story of ancient Roman piety could easily be treated as mor-
alistic and instructive. His contemporaries like their ancestors must seek
divine approbation and by doing so receive God’s reward in the form of
victories.
It is here, however, that Attaleiates’ readers notice the complication
in his argument. When reading chapters from the History to his friends,
some among them would no doubt have asked: were not the Romans
of the Republic pagans? Was their piety not that of a heathen? How did
God reward pagan rituals and heathen practices? This question is fully
justified and the reader of Attaleiates’ more Christian sentences needs to
consider it carefully. What did it mean that God rewarded piety irrespec-
tive of people’s religious background? Why is it that the barbarians of
their time and the Romans of antiquity received God’s favor? Were not
Attaleiates’ Romans a new Israel, the new chosen people? Were not all
other nations condemned to damnation? What is really going on here?
There is in fact more that was surely confusing for Attaleiates’ careful
readers. In discussing Nikephoros Phokas’ campaign to Crete, Attaleiates
noted that the Romans were rewarded for their piety, which was kindled
by the quasi-missionary efforts of the pious Nikephoros. Soon after this
account, however, the History also notes that Nikephoros was murdered
by his wife in collusion with his relative Ioannes Tzimiskes.26 Somehow a
man of God, a Christian warrior was murdered by his own wife and kin,
and yet Attaleiates once again noted that this was God’s will. Who was
this God who was so capricious that he rewarded pagans and barbari-
ans, had pious Christians killed, and at the same time so harshly punished
Attaleiates’ ethically compromised contemporaries?
One way to address this difficult question would be to invoke divine
grace and bury the contradictions in God’s attested interventions in a
nebulous and well-used principle of Christian faith. Being a “medieval
soul” Attaleiates can be presumed to have uncritically accepted such

tenets of the faith. And yet, such an approach to his thinking would
be disrespectful, in view of his specific pronouncements on the issue
of causation. Attaleiates explicitly states that he wrote history in order
to find the causes of events. In his analysis, he sought human activities
behind specific events and historical outcomes. His concern, much as in
the case of Psellos, is with rational souls inhabiting Roman material bod-
ies. As for the divine, when it appears in his text, it is often a non-de-
script, not recognizably Christian force. It is a supreme entity that seems
to guide human affairs and produces often-incomprehensible outcomes.
Attaleiates’ God is much closer to the idea of fortune and chance from
ancient Greek literature, than the notion of a Christian Creator. There is
evidence that his faith was in fact even more compromised. In the library
of his own monastery, he kept a book on earthquakes and thunder, in
effect a work on divination, that offered readings of signs in nature in
quest of forecasts of the future. Such a book was surely not Christian
in content. It stemmed from a long tradition of ancient divination that
relied on oracles and on other forms of study of the natural world, which
were often treated as heretical and outright demonic by the Church.
Moreover, it appears that Attaleiates’ fascination with the Romans
of yore had a direct effect on his conception of the Roman polity and
its relationship with the divine. When in the early years of the 1070s
Attaleiates compiled a synopsis of Roman law for the Emperor Michael
Doukas he framed Byzantine law in quasi-republican fashion. While the
source for his work was the Basilika, which had stood at the center of
the Roman legal system since the end of the ninth century, the manner
of presentation employed by the judge was somewhat idiosyncratic.27
The Basilika was a stereotypically Byzantine legal compilation and as
such opened with a declaration of faith that clearly marked the bound-
aries of a Christian community of faith. As you turned to the first few
pages of the Basilika, you encountered a form of credo that unambig-
uously conveyed the legislator’s view of the relationship between faith,
justice, and the polity. When Attaleiates’ contemporaries and those schol-
ars in the generations that came after him read past the opening pages of
the ponema nomikon and its dedication to the emperor, they came face to
face with a primer on the republican origins of Roman law. After seven-
ty-seven lines of legal history, they stumbled upon the opening chapter
on the definition of free and bound men and soon after they read about
public and private property. The statement of faith that marked the first
230 D. KRALLIS
page of the Basilika was relegated to the third chapter of Attaleiates’

compilation, 173 lines and multiple pages after the opening page of the
manuscript he dedicated to the emperor.
If a person’s importance in the imperial taxis was precisely marked by
his place on the floor before the emperor in the course of an imperial
ceremony, an idea’s place in a person’s mind may similarly be reflected
in the space that this idea is accorded in her books. Attaleiates’ treat-
ment of faith in his legal work is indicative of a person who deliberately
subordinated orthodoxy to republican ideas about citizenship, person-
hood, and property rights. Furthermore, Attaleiates understood the
Roman state to operate as an entity distinct from the Church. When he
therefore described the relationship between Isaakios I Komnenos and
the rather imperious patriarch Michael Keroularios, Attaleiates justified
the emperor’s attempt to circumscribe and in effect contain patriarchal
authority. As far as he was concerned imperial authority deserved respect
and a patriarch disrespecting an emperor was playing with fire. In fact,
Attaleiates openly developed his ideas regarding the role of a patriarch
in society when in describing the life and work of Keroularios’ succes-
sor Konstantinos Leichoudes he argued that everyone loved him because
he cared for the monks, the clergy, and the poor. That, in the judge’s
view, was the role of the head of the Orthodox community. It was dis-
tinct from the state and limited to the realm of a clearly circumscribed
philanthropic Church. Even more telling of Attaleiates’ ideas regard-
ing the place of clerics in society was his comment on the fate of the
deposed Emperor Michael VII Doukas whom the usurper Nikephoros
Botaneiates tonsured and placed at the head of the bishopric of Ephesos.
Attaleiates noted about this affair that the post was ideal for Michael who
was naïve and unsuited to politics. In the mind of this historian then, the
Church was a realm separate from the state and appropriate for an apolit-
ical, simpler type of man.
That said what we have discussed above does not give us a clear sense
of Attaleiates’ actual beliefs. It speaks of his views on the Church, on
piety, and on the relationship between Orthodoxy and the Roman pol-
ity, but it does not really touch upon his view of the divine. We already
saw that Attaleiates’ view of the role of God in human affairs differed
in the various passages of his texts and from one text to the other. A
close reading of the History in fact suggests that the divine for Attaleiates
was a nebulous concept rather close to ancient Greek ideas of fortune.
In Attaleiates’ world, much as in Psellos’ work, people were the motive

forces behind history. Only the judge, like many of his ancient counter-
parts, was well aware that people were never in full control of their fate.
The unexpected always lurked and the person best prepared to deal with
it was the type of man admired by Attaleiates. In that scheme of things
the Christian God with his incoherent behavior, that punished the pious
and the impious alike, was neither moral nor an adequate explanation
for the developments one experienced in historical time. Theodicy and
Divine Grace were not prisms through which this historian understood
human life.
Conversations on medieval religious belief stumble inevitably upon
modern notions of faith and our contemporary preconceptions about
the belief systems of pagans, Christians, Jews, and Muslims. The study
of Attaleiates’ worldview indicates that things were in fact rather more
complicated when it came to faith and the medieval Romans. His admi-
ration of pagan piety indicates that though well read in the Christian
foundational texts, he approached religion from a rather practical per-
spective. Like the pagan historian Polybios (second century BCE), who
admired Rome for its manipulation of piety and its use of religion as a
unifying force in society, Attaleiates seems to have viewed Christianity
from a similar angle. The failures of Attaleiates’ contemporaries were
thus to be attributed not to sin, as this was understood in the frame-
work of a theologically correct Christianity, but rather to their abandon-
ment of proper religious practice and piety, both core components of
citizenship. In that respect, Attaleiates was as Roman as his republican
heroes, conceiving the role of religion in the state in much the same
way. What if Christianity had supplanted Paganism? For Attaleiates
the eternal questions of piety, respect for ancestral custom and investi-
gation of the causes of divine displeasure applied to all ages. In a way
none of this should come as a surprise to us. Recent work on authors
from Prokopios, Agathias, and Ioannes Lydos to Psellos and Attaleiates
himself suggests that the judge swam confidently in an established
Byzantine intellectual current. Here reasoned discourse and careful
assessment of causation flowed safely past the shoals of dogma and the
rapids of inflexible faith. How different then, these Roman citizens,
their minds, and the world they inhabited from the realm of theo-
cratic tyranny and intellectual retardation projected onto Byzantium by
Voltaire and his peers in the Age of Reason.
232 D. KRALLIS
Notes
1. Stratis Papaioannou, Michael Psellos on Literature and Art: A Byzantine
Perspective on Aesthetics (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame
Press, 2017), p. 374 for the Greek text, p. 375 for the translation.
2. Anthony Cutler and Robert Browning, “In the Margins of Byzantium?
Some Icons in Michael Psellos,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 16
(1992), pp. 21–32, here pp. 28–29.
3. Papaioannou, Michael Psellos on Literature and Art, pp. 224–44.
4. Papaioannou, Michael Psellos on Literature and Art, p. 233.
5. Floris Bernard and Christopher Livanos (trans.), The Poems of Christopher
of Mytilene and John Mauropous, p. ix.
6. Kaldellis and Polemis, Psellos and the Patriarchs: Letters and Funeral
Orations for Keroularios, Leichoudes, and Xiphilinos, pp. 13–14 on accu-
sations against Psellos with relevant references, p. 100 for a possible indi-
rect reference to being interrogated on his faith in the Funeral Oration to
Keroularios.
7. Basil of Caesarea, Address to the Young Men, IV.
8. Kaldellis, The Argument of Psellos’ Chronographia, pp. 83ff on the
Naziraioi.
9. Frederick Lauritzen, “Psellos and the Nazireans,” Revue des études byzan
tines 64–65 (2006), pp. 359–64 on the Naziraioi as a conservative force.
10. Richard P. H. Greenfield (trans.), Life of Saint Symeon the New Theologian:
Niketas Stethatos (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library,
2013), pp. 168–70 for Greek text and translation.
11. Kaldellis and Polemis, Psellos and the Patriarchs, p. 40 for the translation.
12. Kaldellis and Polemis, Psellos and the Patriarchs, p. 39 for logical nature.
13. Kaldellis and Polemis, Psellos and the Patriarchs, pp. 39 and 41.
Keroularios shuns Psellos’ company.
14. Kaldellis, The Argument of Psellos’ Chronographia, pp. 83ff, 112ff, and
130ff.
15. Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaellis Pselli Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,
1992), p. 263, poem 21, lines 129–33.
16. Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaellis Pselli Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,
1992), p. 273, poem 22, lines 81–84.
17. G. T. Dennis, “Elias the Monk, Friend of Psellos,” in Byzantine authors:
literary activities and preoccupations: Texts and Translations dedicated to
the Memory of Nicolas Oikonomides, ed. John W. Nesbitt (Leiden: Brill,
2003), pp. 43–64 on Elias.
18. Leon VI, Novel 89 in Spyridon Troianos (trans.), Οι Νεαρές: Λέοντος του
Σοϕού (Athens: Herodotos, 2007), p. 254.
21. Alexander P. Kazhdan, Studies on Byzantine Literature of the Eleventh and

Twelfth Centuries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), p. 77
for Attaleiates as a conventional Christian.
24. Agathias, Book 5.4–5.5 in R. Keydell (ed.), Agathiae Myrinaei
Historiarum libri quinque (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1976), pp. 166–69.
25. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, pp. 130–38 for the
malady and death of Psellos’ child.
27. Chitwood, Byzantine Legal Culture, pp. 42–43 on Symbatios’ primer on
the Roman republic.
CHAPTER 13
A Short Conclusion
With this direct challenge of our ideas regarding Christian faith in

the eleventh century the portrait of a committed citizen, living a fully
Roman life as an eclectic Christian is now completed. We will not delve
here on Attaleiates’ death, which remains a mystery. Scholars posit that
both the judge and his son were likely dead by the mid-1080s. Prudence
and planning did not protect them from age, disease, or perhaps poli-
tics. A few years later Attaleiates’ rather nuanced Roman world would
encounter a world of certainty, religious zeal, and dedication to strict
definitions of orthodoxy (correct faith). The Catholic Christian knights
and the accompanying clergy of the first Crusade had little of the readi-
ness displayed by men of Attaleiates’ class to seek synthesis in their views
of the world. Those inflexible warriors were welcomed to Romanía by
a new emperor, the bright and successful Alexios Komnenos whom
Attaleiates had celebrated in his own work. Alexios himself made a pact
with the rigorist forces in Romanía in order to secure his position on
the throne. Early on in his reign, he tried Psellos’ student, the philos-
opher Ioannes Italos, for impiety and thus nodded to the ultra-Ortho-
dox camp of Niketas Stethatos’ scions that he respected their thinking.
Alexios’ piety was as conspicuous as Attaleiates would have expected
it to be. It was, however, no more than skin deep. Next to the new
emperor stood astronomers like Symeon Seth. Even when Alexios exiled
from Constantinople a number of astrologers, fearing, in the words of
his daughter Anna, their effects on the Byzantine youth, he sent them
away in comfortable retirement in the city of Raidestos. One wonders,

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8_13
236 D. KRALLIS
in fact, if it was in the mansion of the now deceased Attaleiates, a known

Komnenos supporter, that these men were housed. With the arrival of
the Crusade and the consolidation of the Komnenoi in power, a process
that led to changes in the political organization of the Roman polity, the
curtain falls on the eleventh century. Officials like Attaleiates still found
a role in the management of the flamboyant Komnenian state, and yet
no intellectual after Attaleiates was to display his confidence in the social
position and role of his class in the Roman body politic. In the twelfth
century, the sword was certainly mightier than the pen. Alexios was
Attaleiates’ hero, yet with this young Byzantine Scipio, Attaleiates’ age
comes to an end.
Glossary
anthypatos: Greek rendering of the Roman office of pro-consul. By the

eleventh century an anthypatos is a senior court dignity
charistikion: A form of private/public partnership focused on monas-
tic assets, a charistikion was a contract between the Byzantine state
and a private individual (charistikarios). Through this arrangement
elite Byzantines assumed the management of a monastery’s estates,
invested in the monastery’s spiritual life funds derived from said man-
agement, and pocketed the remaining surplus
doux: By Attaleiates’ time,a doux was usually in command of one of the
larger military districts that emerged mainly in newly conquered ter-
ritories. The domestikos of the scholai (high commander of Romanía’s
field armies) was also sometimes called a doux
droungarios: An officer in the thematic armies. Early on this was the
commander of a droungos (a unit of 1000 men). Over the years, the
number of men under this command gradually decreased. A droun
garios also commanded the fleets at Constantinople and in Romanía’s
maritime themes
epi ton deeseon: A legal official who collected petitions addressed to the
emperor and was responsible for drafting responses to them
epi ton kriseon: An office created as part of Konstantinos Monomachos’
legal reforms. It was likely instituted sometime between 1043 and 1047.
© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license 237
to Springer Nature Switzerland AG, part of Springer Nature 2019
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8
238 Glossary
Attaleiates explains in the History that the epi ton kriseon supervised the
decisions of provincial courts
indiction: The Byzantines divided time into fifteen-year tax cycles. Each
year of a particular cycle was a numbered indiction. Thus the ninth indic-
tion was the ninth year of that cycle (of fifteen years). This was but one
among a series of different dating systems available to the Byzantines
kaisar: From the Latin Caesar. By the eleventh century this title was
mostly granted to royal heirs or other notable members of the impe-
rial family
katepano: In the late tenth and eleventh centuries the katepano were
governors of major military provinces such as Italy, Mesopotamia,
Bulgaria, and the region of Antioch
klasma: Usually abandoned and uncultivated private land removed from
the tax registers and assigned to new owners under diminished tax
rates for a period of time, with an eye to eventual restoration of pro-
ductivity and maximization of future tax revenues
kleisoura: A mountain pass and the district around it placed under the com-
mand of a kleisourarches, who was responsible for its defense. By the elev-
enth century, most kleisourai had been elevated to the status of themata
krites (pl. kritai): A state official with judicial but also administrative and
fiscal duties. Not all kritai possessed legal expertise and training. In
the tenth and eleventh centuries kritai emerge as chief administrators
in provinces, which in the past had been managed by strategoi
krites of the Hippodrome: A career judge who held his tribunal at the
covered Hippodrome
krites of the army: The krites tou stratopedou first appears in Attaleiates
who held this office. The History suggests that this official dealt with
disciplinary issues emerging in the course of a campaign. In a way, he
was a manager of civilian-military relations
krites of the velon: A member of a twelve-member Constantinopolitan
court which after the tenth century emerges as one of the empire’s
highest tribunals. The kritai of the velon may have acquired their
name from the location of their court behind a large awning (velum)
in the area of the covered Hippodrome
logothetes: Head of a government bureau. This title rose to prominence
after the decline of the office of the praetorian prefect at the end of antiq-
uity. A logothetes supervised the activities of his bureau the logothesion
logothetes tou dromou: The head of the bureau of the dromos. He
was responsible for ceremonial the emperor’s safety, intelligence
Glossary 239
operations, and foreign affairs. Some logothetai tou dromou assumed

the role of first minister
logothetes ton hydaton: Title attested only in the History in relation to
Basileios Maleses. Scholars speculate that it was likely associated with
the maintenance of Constantinople’s aqueducts
magistros: A high-ranking dignity in the middle Byzantine period. The
magistroi lost some of their prestige in the eleventh century when the
title was awarded to middle-rank courtiers and officials
mystographos: Palatine official likely of the close imperial circle, often
assigned judicial duties both in the themes and in the courts of the
Hippodrome and the velum
nobellisimos: Previously exclusive to the imperial family this title was also
awarded to supreme military commanders by the last third of the elev-
enth century. Alexios Komnenos held it before rising to the throne
orphanotrophos: Director of an orphanage. During the early Byzantine
period this was a clerical position. In Constantinople, however, the
orphanotrophoi eventually joined the secular hierarchy and often held
other offices in the bureaucracy
patrikios: Evoking the republican patriciate this high-ranking dignity
was awarded to the highest-ranking officials in the tenth century. In
the course of the eleventh century it lost some of its lustre, though
Attaleiates for one proudly held it
praipositos: In late antiquity the praepositus sacri cubiculi was the high-
est-ranking eunuch serving the emperor in the capacity of grand
chamberlain. In the middle Byzantine period, the praipositoi were
eunuchs involved in palace ceremonial. The position is no longer
attested from the Komnenian period onwards
protasekretis: The head of the imperial chancery notably responsible for
the drafting of chrysoboulla
protospatharios: Court dignity of some distinction which by the eleventh
century had declined in significance and marked the entry of an indi-
vidual to the senate
sekreton: A bureau of the imperial administration
tagma (pl. tagmata): A unit of professional soldiers under direct impe-
rial command. The tagmata were created in the iconoclast era by
Konstantinos V (718–775 CE) as a check on the power of the com-
manders (strategoi) of the armies of the themata. Later in the tenth
century tagmata were quartered all over the empire. By Attaleiates’
240 Glossary
time, the distinction between thematic and tagmatic units had faded
and the term tagma now referred to any Roman army unit
thema (pl. themata): One of the provinces of the empire. This system
of military organization was in decline in Attaleiates’ time when the
empire relied on full-time professional or mercenary soldiers and fron-
tier-based army units
vestes: This title first appears in the tenth century when it was granted to
prominent figures in Romanía’s the military establishment. Title infla-
tion had made it available to mid-level officials by the middle of the
eleventh century
Bibliographical Essays
Chapter 1—Introduction
In the 1920s, Eileen Power’s Medieval People pioneered historically
sensitive reconstructions of life in the Middle Ages. Focused on six
different individuals known to us through more or less complete writ-
ten and material records, she evocatively reconstructed the realities
of medieval life for both academic and lay audiences. More recently,
Adrienne Mayor’s The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithridates,
Rome’s Deadliest Enemy outlined an argument for historically bounded
hypothesis as basis for methodologically correct storytelling (p. 5–6).
John Lewis Gaddis, The Landscape of History: How Historians Map the
Past sets out the basic principles behind the use of counterfactual his-
tory (pp. 100–9), as does Niall Ferguson in Virtual History: Alternatives
and Counterfactuals. When it comes to informed historical reconstruc-
tion, economic historians have long worked with models and highly
speculative, if plausible data, to provide insights into important histor-
ical questions. A good example of such work would be Keith Hopkins’
“Rome, Taxes, Rents, and Trade” (pp. 190–231). In transferring such
approaches to Byzantine social history, I construct a plausible model
courtier, whose experience affords the reader a look at a whole class of
which he is a representative.
There are not many book-length focused studies on Byzantine offi-
cialdom. One somewhat dated exception is Gunter Weiss, Ostromische
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8
242 Bibliographical Essays
Beamte im Spiegel der Schriften des Michael Psellos, who used the writ-
ings of Psellos to discuss the empire’s bureaucracy. For Late Antiquity
Christopher Kelly’s Ruling the Later Roman Empire is essential. More
recently, the labor of Jacov Ljubarskij (Η Προσωπικότητα και το Έργο του
Μιχαήλ Ψελλού), Eva De Vries Van der Velden (see Bibliography), and
Anthony Kaldellis (The Argument of the Chronographia of Michael Psellos)
has put life into the monastic garb of the witty and political Michael
Psellos, while a two decades or so back Margaret Mullet’s Theophylact
of Ochrid: Reading the Letters of a Byzantine Archbishop outlined circles
of patronage in the empire at a time when Attaleiates was active. Still,
with the possible exception of Kaldellis’ translations of Psellos’ letters on
his family, where the protean courtier’s mind speaks to us through the
lucid English prose of the modern scholar, most of the work discussed
here is difficult for the uninitiated reader. It is addressed to the specialist
and would, perhaps, prove challenging even for professional historians of
other ages and regions.
In the present book, Attaleiates becomes a lens through which to
look at the polity of the medieval Romans in a given point in time. As
a provincial, he helps link the capital in which he served with his place
of origin and with the rural areas he visited during his service as a
judge in the imperial army. Anthony Kaldellis’ Hellenism in Byzantium:
The Transformation of Greek Identity and the Reception of the Classical
Tradition has outlined a most compelling argument in support of a
closer relationship between the capital and the provinces. I have followed
his lead in “Popular Political Agency in Byzantium’s Village and Towns.”
Similarly, James Howard-Johnston, “The Peira and Legal Practices in
Eleventh-Century Byzantium” (p. 74), sees Byzantium as an “inten-
sively governed” polity. For a different take on this matter Leonora
Neville’s Authority in Byzantine Provincial Society, 950–1100, where she
argues for a Byzantine state rather indifferent to the fate of the prov-
inces. This very argument she pursues from a different angle in “Organic
Local Government and Village Authority.” Paul Magdalino’s “Byzantine
Snobbery” discusses Constantinopolitan responses to people from the
provinces. Finally, claims in this book about Attaleiates’ life as a historian
are substantiated by research presented in my book Michael Attaleiates
and the Politics of Imperial Decline in Eleventh-Century Byzantium. Here
we will rather be focusing on his life and career as a judge and a member
of Romanía’s officialdom.
Chapter 2
Michael Psellos’ Chronographia is the text on which much modern anal-
ysis on the eleventh century relies. Following Psellos, Karayannopoulos
describes eleventh-century emperors as incompetent in the second vol-
ume of his Ιστορία του Βυζαντινού Κράτους (p. 482). George Ostrogorsky
in his History of the Byzantine State sees the same emperors as weak. A
factual modern account of the era that shies away from Psellos’ rhetori-
cal excess can be found in “Erratic Government: 1025–1081,” the eight-
eenth chapter of Warren Treadgold’s A History of the Byzantine State and
Society. Similarly, open to a more intricate reading of the eleventh cen-
tury is Michael Angold, The Byzantine Empire, 1025–1204: A Political
History. A survey of the cultural developments that marked the elev-
enth century can be found in the fourth chapter of Anthony Kaldellis’
Hellenism in Byzantium. Chapter 4 (pp. 191–224) deals with Psellos
and his impact on future generations of Byzantine thinkers. Stavroula
Chondridou also focuses on cultural developments in her Ο Κωνσταντίνος
Θ´Μονομάχος και η Εποχή του Ενδέκατος Αιώνας [Constantine IX Mono
machos and the Eleventh-Century Era]. More recently, in Streams of
Gold, Rivers of Blood: The Rise and Fall of Byzantium, 955 A.D. to the
First Crusade, Anthony Kaldellis took a stab at the question of the elev-
enth-century crisis. Eshewing discussions of systemic failure, he looked
at the empire’s troubles as the result of an unfortunate confluence of
events. In his work, expansive fiscal policy, increasing political instabil-
ity, and deteriorating international environment come together to nearly
crush the Byzantine polity.
The association of the Soviet Union to Byzantium was an almost inev-
itable outcrop of the cold war and is evident in Romilly Jenkins’ chatty
Byzantium: The Imperial Centuries, AD 610–1071 (pp. 3–4). Silvia Ronchey
notes in the introduction to her translation of Alexander Kazhdan’s mag-
isterial L’aristocrazia bizantina: dal principio dell’XI al fine dell’XII secolo
(p. 22) that he associated Byzantine bureaucratism with soviet nomenklat
ura and believed that this Byzantine trait impeded the development of the
feudal aristocracy, a fundamental step—in his mind—toward Western-style
social evolution. A volume edited by Vassiliki Vlyssidou deals with a number
of important questions regarding the eleventh century: The Empire in Crisis
(?): Byzantium in the Eleventh Century (1025–1081).
The so-called civilian/military divide marks the study of the elev-
enth century. This concept was authoritatively expressed by George
Ostrogorsky in History of the Byzantine State (pp. 320–50, esp. 341–

44) and was reaffirmed by Speros Vryonis Jr in “Byzantine Imperial
Authority: Theory and Practice in the Eleventh Century” (p. 143).
The seminal work on the aristocracy and its bid for power in the elev-
enth century is Jean-Claude Cheynet’s Pouvoir et contestations à Byzance
(963–1210). His is a systematic and broadly convincing critique of the
civilian/military divide. A thorough summation of this scholarly contro-
versy appears in Walter Kaegi’s “The Controversy about the Bureaucratic
and Military Factions” (pp. 25–33). For a return to historical readings
focused on the civilian/military divide, consider Alexander Kazhdan and
Silvia Ronchey, L’ aristocrazia bizantina: del principio dell’ XI alla fine
del XII secolo, p. 57, addressing Kaegi.
If a reading of the eleventh century focused on the clash between
bureaucrats and the army marked modern readings of the time, a deeper
scholarly prejudice has hindered analysis of an interesting phenomenon.
The eleventh century is a time when Byzantine authors engage with
Roman republican history. Such engagement, much as any other form
of Byzantine exploration of the Greco-Roman past, has for years been
treated as shallow and rhetorically inflected, a form of regurgitation of
the past for the purposes of effect. For this line of argument, see Cyril
Mango, “Discontinuity with the Classical Past in Byzantium.” The
same argument is forcefully if indirectly made in Mango’s “Byzantine
Literature as a Distorting Mirror.”
The reader will note that I use the terms medieval Roman polity
almost interchangeably with Byzantium or Byzantine Empire. Polity mir-
rors here the Greek term politeia, a stand-in for the Latin res publica. The
seeds for the discussion of Byzantium as a Roman Monarchical republic
are to be found in Hans-Georg Beck’s Chapter 5 (Die Kaiserwahl) from
Das byzantinische Jahrtausend. Here Beck cut through the smokescreen
of religious imagery associated with the representation of the emperor
to consider republican Roman elements in the election process. Only
recently, however, did Anthony Kaldellis outline the decisive argument for
a “republican” Byzantium in The Byzantine Republic: People and Power in
New Rome. My own earlier “‘Democratic’ Action in Eleventh-Century
Byzantium: Michael Attaleiates’ ‘Republicanism’ in Context” offered read-
ings that treat Byzantine republicanism as more than affectation without
going as far as Kaldellis. This book sheds my earlier shyness and follows
Beck and Kaldellis in order to set its story in a polity that is rather different
from the quasi-absolutist monarchy of older Byzantine scholarship.
The military crisis that the empire faced in the eleventh century has
given rise to conflicting interpretations as seen in the vigorous dialogue
between John Haldon’s Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World
565–1204 and Warren Treadgold’s Byzantium and Its Army, 284–1081.
While, however, the period before the Crusade is mostly read as a time
of crisis, the Byzantine economy was booming throughout the era. This
process has been studied by Alan Harvey in Economic Expansion in the
Byzantine Empire: 900–1200 and by Angeliki Laiou and Cécile Morrisson
in The Byzantine Economy (pp. 90–165). Case studies for urban devel-
opment in different cities of the empire at the time can be found in the
three-volume The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh to
the Fifteenth Century edited by Angeliki Laiou. Cécile Morrisson’s “La
Dévaluation de la Monnaie Byzantine” is essential for a discussion of the
monetary and fiscal crises that marked the late eleventh century.
A few other themes emerge in this chapter. For an introduc-
tion to the issue of language in Byzantium, see Geoffrey Horrocks’
chapter on Language in The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies
(pp. 777–84). Gilbert Dagron, “Formes et fonctions du pluralisme lin-
guistique à Byzance (IXe–XIIe siècles)” is also important. On the rise of
Greek as an official language of the empire, see Nikolas Oikonomides,
«L᾽«unilinguisme» officiel de Constantinople byzantine (VIIe–XIIe s.)».
On the location of the Court of the Hippodrome, see Andreas
Goutzioukostas’ Administration of Justice in Byzantium (9th–12th
Centuries): Judicial Officers and Secular Tribunals of Constantinople
(pp. 121–30) for the “covered hippodrome.” The political significance
of Chariot racing is highlighted in Chapter 6 (Shows and Factions) of
John Liebeschuetz’s The Decline and Fall of the Roman City. The classic
study on the circus factions is Alan Cameron’s Circus Factions: Blues and
Greens at Rome and Byzantium. The conclusions of this work should
however be revisited in view of Anthony Kaldellis’ arguments about the
political role of the people in The Byzantine Republic: People and Power
in Byzantium. On the Emperor Basileios II and his nachleben, see Paul
Stephenson, The Legend of Basil the Bulgar-Slayer.
In the context of rapidly changing frontiers and notable population
movements, ethnic identity becomes an important question. Here one
should start with Anthony Kaldellis’ provocative reconceptualization of
Byzantine ethnic identity in “From Rome to New Rome, From Empire to
Nation State: Reopening the Question of Byzantium’s Roman Identity.”
On the challenges created by the ethno-religious reality faced by the
empire in the eleventh century, see Mark Whittow, The Making of Orthodox
Byzantium, 600–1025. For Constantinople’s mosques, see Claire D.
Anderson’ “Islamic Spaces and Diplomacy in Constantinople (Tenth to thir-
teenth Centuries C.E.)” and Stephen W. Reinert’s “The Muslim Presence in
Constantinople, 9th–15th Centuries: Some Preliminary Observations.”
For the presence of westerners in the empire, see Alexander P.
Kazhdan’s “Latins and Franks in Byzantium.” Also consider the care-
ful analysis of Paul Magdalino in The Byzantine Background to the
First Crusade for the place of Western warriors in Byzantium. Paul
Magdalino looks at the ways in which Constantinopolitans reacted to
provincials in “Byzantine Snobbery.” The classic case of the internal
outsider in Byzantium is the Paphlagonian. For that, see Magdalino’s
“Paphlagonians in Byzantine High-Society.”
On the Normans, see Graham Alexander Loud, “How ‘Norman’ was
the Norman Conquest of Southern Italy?” “Continuity and change in
Norman Italy: the Campania during the eleventh and twelfth centuries”
and John France’s “The Occasion of the Coming of the Normans to
Italy.” Also see Ann Wharton Epstein’s “The Date and Significance of
the Cathedral of Canosa in Apulia, South Italy” for Byzantino-Norman
syncretism. “Working with Roman history: Attaleiates’ portrayal of the
Normans” by Alexander Olson examines to Byzantine attitudes toward
the Normans, while Jonathan Shepard’s “When Greek Meets Greek:
Alexius Comnenus and Bohemond in 1097–8” highlights Robert
Guiscard’s adaptability and adoption of Byzantine habits and language.
On the South Italian context of these interactions, see Ghislaine Noyé’s
“La Calabre entre Byzantins, Sarrasins et Normands.”
For the peculiar case of the marital agreement between Michael VII
and Robert Guiscard, see Helen Bibicou’s “Une page d’histoire diplo-
matique de Byzance au XIe siecle: Michel VII Doukas, Robert Guiscard
et la pension des dignitaires.” Paul Stephenson’s Byzantium’s Balkan
Frontier: A Political Study of the Northern Balkans, 900–1204 deals with
the empire’s Northern frontier. Chapter 3 in particular (pp. 80–116)
examines the arrival of the Patzinakoi in the Balkans.
Chapter 3
For books and Byzantine book culture, one may start with the account of
“Byzantine Book Production” by John Lowden in the Oxford Handbook
of Byzantine Studies. The author provides here a useful bibliography.
In German and in Greek translation, one may consult Herbert Hunger’s

Schreiben und Lesen in Byzanz. Die byzantinische Buchkultur. Nigel
Wilson’s Scholars of Byzantium offers useful information on the cost of
book procurement and production (pp. 120–25). On books and read-
ing see Teresa Shawcross’ “Byzantium a Bookish World” in the vol-
ume edited with Ida Toth titled Reading in the Byzantine Empire and
Beyond. For the Diataxis, a crucial source on Attaleiates, one must look
to Paul Gautier “La Diataxis de Michel Attaliate.” For a translation of
the Diataxis in English and for all translated passages from this text fea-
tured in this book, see Alice-Mary Talbot’s translation and commentary
of Attaleiates’ text in Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents (vol. 1,
pp. 326–36) a collection edited by John Thomas and Angela
Constantinides Hero. The Diataxis is heavily used in Attaleiates’ biog-
raphy that features in Chapter 1 of Michael Attaleiates and the Politics
of Imperial Decline in Eleventh-century Byzantium. Inmaculada Pérez
Martín’s analysis of the History’s manuscript tradition and of Attaleiates’
textual debts to ancient and medieval authors in her published translation
and commentary of this text is invaluable: Miguel Ataliates: Historia.
An issue emerging in this chapter relates to Byzantine uses of the past
and of ancient literature in general. Anthony Kaldellis’ “The Byzantine
Role in the Making of the Corpus of Classical Greek Historiography:
A Preliminary Investigation” offers a framework for understanding
Byzantine engagement with ancient literary works. His analysis puts the
work on the classics by Byzantine scholars at the very center of broader
European processes of engagement with the past. One idea that medieval
Roman scholars lifted from the world of their ancient Greek antecedents
is that of the historian’s duty to educate future generations of citizens.
Here Attaleiates followed in the steps of Leon Diakonos, who wrote in
the late tenth century, but also had classical models, which to follow in
Thucydides, Polybios, and Diodoros of Sicily. Among the texts owned
by the monastic library of Attaleiates’ monastery, one finds a copy of
Achilles Tatios’Leukippe and Kleitophon. The presence of this Roman era
Romantic novel in a monastic library raises interesting questions about
the boundaries between secular and sacred cultures. These are also dis-
cussed in Chapter 11, dedicated to Attaleiates’ pious foundation, and
Chapter 12, which focuses on faith.
For the Byzantine engagement with the ancient novel, one should
study the fifth chapter (pp. 256–69) of Anthony Kaldellis’ Hellenism
in Byzantium. The same author offers fascinating thoughts about the
Byzantine ability to accurately reconstruct and imagine alien worlds in

“Historicism in Byzantine Thought and Literature.” For Michael Psellos’
responses to the ancient novel, one should consult Andrew Dyck’s
Michael Psellus: The Essays on Euripides and George of Pisidia and on
Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius. One may access some of these Byzantine
Novels through Elizabeth Jeffreys’ elegant translations in Four Byzantine
Novels.
For Attaleiates’ legal synopsis, the Ponema Nomikon, see Alexander
Kazhdan’s entry in The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (vol. 1, p. 229).
In Greek, Spyridon Troianos’ Οι Πηγές του Βυζαντινού Δικαίου dis-
cusses Attaleiates’ legal work as well as his influence on Armenopoulos.
Zachary Ray Chitwood’s Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal
Tradition, 867–1056 (pp. 181–82) also touches upon the Ponema
Nomikon. My own Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline
(pp. xxii–xxiii) offers some thoughts on that matter too. As noted in
this chapter, Attaleiates’ work was copied early on by the Continuator
of Skylitzes. On Skylitzes and his work, one must consult Catherine
Holmes’ Basil II and the Governance of Empire (976–1025) and Sophia
Eirini Kiapidou’s Greek monograph: Η σύνοψη ιστοριών του Ιωάννη
Σκυλίτζη και οι πηγές της (811–1057). For an introduction to the study of
Byzantine officials’ lead seals, one should look no further than the Web
site of the Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection.
Chapter 4
On Byzantine children and childhood, see Alice-Mary Talbot and Arietta
Papaconstantinou, Becoming Byzantine: Children and Childhood in
Byzantium. Among Byzantine primary sources, Michael Psellos’Encomium
to His Mother, the Funeral Oration for the Death of His Daughter, and a
number of his letters to friends translated by Anthony Kaldellis in Mothers
and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos
offer sensitive insights into domestic life and the relationship between
parents and children. On Byzantine children, see Cecily Hennessy, “The
Byzantine Child: Picturing Complex Family Dynamics” with relevant
bibliography. The reader should find more on the Byzantine family and
household in the bibliographical essay for Chapter 6.
For the travels of Sir John Mandeville and the curse of Satalia,
one may use the excellent resources put together online at the
University of Rochester by Tamarah Kohanski and David C. Benson:
http://d.lib.rochester.edu/teams/text/kohanski-and-benson-the-book-
of-john-mandeville for the text. There is no foundational English lan-
guage study of the city of Attaleia. The entry on the Oxford Dictionary
of Byzantium (vol. 1, pp. 228–29) provides but cursory information.
Epigraphic, archeological, historical, and hagiographic sources inform
any reconstitution of life in Attaleia. We find much of this material con-
centrated in the essential 8th volume of the Tabula Imperii Byzantini,
published by the Austrian Academy of Sciences (Hansgerd Hellenkemper
and Friedrich Hild, TIB 8: Lykien und Pamphylien I).
Other sources for the study of the city are mostly indirect. The pres-
ence of the Byzantine navy in Attaleia allows one to reconstruct the
social life of the city. For the military, social, and broadly logistical reali-
ties associated with the Byzantine navy Helene Ahrweiler’s Byzance et la
mer is still important. On the natural resources and industries associated
with the navy, see Russell Meiggs’ Trees and Timber in the Mediterranean
World. Byzantine tactical manuals based on ancient works about the
organization and fighting of wars can, if critically read, help us better
understand the operation of Romanía’s navy. For such a text, see George
Dennis, TheTaktika of Leo VI. For a point-by-point analysis of this docu-
ment, see John Haldon’ A Critical Commentary on The Taktika of Leo VI
(pp. 389–417) for a discussion of Leon’s Constitution 19 on naval affairs.
John Pryor’ “Shipping and seafaring” offers extensive bibliography on
naval affairs. Some parts of Leon’s Taktika provide information about
naval warfare in this chapter. The Mardaites remain mysterious to scholars.
The Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire (c. 500–1492) (p. 382)
discusses them as Armenian in origin. Before settling in Attaleia and join-
ing the empire’s naval forces, they acted as guerillas fighting for the empire
in Syria, which had recently been conquered by the Caliphate. Here they
served Byzantine interests by raising all manner of mayhem in Muslim
lands.
Readers interested in Byzantine dress and the appearance of offi-
cials should consult Maria Parani’s invaluable Reconstructing the Reality
of Images: Byzantine Material Culture and Religious Iconography
(11th–15th Centuries) and Jennifer Ball’s Byzantine Dress: Representations
of Secular Dress in Eighth- to Twelfth-Century Painting. On diglossia,
see C. A. Ferguson’s “Diglossy.” Stephanos Efthymiadis’ “Audience,
Language and Patronage in Byzantine Hagiography” (p. 252) explains
that the koine of hagiographical writing offered “precious insights
into the spoken Greek of the Byzantine era.” Also see Notis Toufexis,
“Diglossia and Register Variation in Medieval Greek” and Milovanovic-

Bahram’s “Three levels of Style in Gregory of Nazianzus: The Case of
Oration 43” as well as Ihor Ševčenko’s “Levels of style in Byzantine
prose” (pp. 292–94) on individual authors who used multiple registers of
Greek in their works depending of the targeted audience.
Chapter 5
For a comprehensive discussion of travel by land and sea in the Byzantine
world, see Anna Avramea, “Land and Sea Communications, Fourth–
Fifteenth Centuries” in the Economic History of Byzantium. Avramea
provides extensive bibliography on the subject. For the traveler’s expe-
rience in Greek, see Apostolos Karpozilos’ “Ταξιδιώτικές περιγραϕές και
εντυπώσεις σε επιστολογραϕικά κείμενα.” An important book on com-
munications and travel in the Middle Ages, with extensive references to
Byzantium, is Michael McCormick’s Origins of the European Economy:
Communications and Commerce AD 300–900.
On shipwrecks, which provide essential information about merchant
vessels, see A. J. Parker’s Ancient Shipwrecks of the Mediterranean and
the Roman Provinces. On the archeology of Byzantine ships in par-
ticular, see Frederick van Doorninck, “Byzantine Shipwrecks,” in The
Economic History of Byzantium (pp. 899–905) with extensive bibliogra-
phy. Also see George F. Bass and Frederick H. van Doorninck, Jr., Yassı
Ada. Vol. I: A Seventh-Century Byzantine Shipwreck and George F. Bass,
Sheila D. Matthews, J. Richard Stefy, and Frederick H. van Doorninck,
Jr., Serçe Limanı. An Eleventh-Century Shipwreck. Vol. I, The Ship and
Its Anchorage, Crew, and Passengers for the Yasi Ada and Serçe Limanı
wrecks. More recently, the stunning finds in the Yenikapı excavations
in Istanbul have started enriching our views of both shipping and the
city itself. For a useful survey with compelling visuals, see Mark Rose
and Şengül Aydingün, “Under Istanbul” as well as Rebecca Ingram and
Michael Jones, “Yenikapı: Documenting Two Byzantine Merchant Ships
from the Yenikapı Excavations in Istanbul, Turkey.”
For travel supplies and logistics, see John Matthews’ accessible and
elegantly written The Journey of Theophanes: Travel, Business, and Daily
Life in the Roman East. Matthews deals with an earlier period in history,
but his book nevertheless offers the reader a sense of what was involved
in long-distance travel. The discussion of the city of Abydos in this chap-
ter is cursory but intended to highlight the survival of ancient patterns of
urban organization in the Middle Ages. While Abydos’ grid plan was an
exception by medieval standards, it is important to consider the impact
of antique forms of urban economic, social, and spatial arrangement
on medieval Romans. Specifically then on the grid pattern at the cus-
toms port town of Abydos, see Michael Angold’s “The Shaping of the
Medieval Byzantine ‘City’” and Bryan Ward-Perkins’ “Can the Survival
of an Ancient Town-Plan be Used as Evidence of Dark-Age Urban
Life?” On Abydos as a tax payment area, see Angeliki Laiou and Cecile
Morrisson, The Byzantine Economy (p. 52).
Like Abydos, Constantinople was one place where antique urban plan-
ning and monumentality remained relatively unaffected by the advent
of the Middle Ages. The rough outlines of late antiquity’s urban plan-
ning survived the population collapse and the new impoverished sta-
tus of the Dark Age Roman polity. For the built environment and
landscapes of Romanía from the end of Antiquity to Attaleiates’ cen-
tury, see the volume edited by Philipp Niewohner, The Archaeology of
Byzantine Anatolia: From the End of Late Antiquity Until the Coming of
the Turks. Back in the capital, Attaleiates would have walked in streets
marked by the imprint of antiquity and inflected by accretions of time.
On the Constantinople’s urban development and neighborhoods, see
Paul Magdalino, “The Maritime Neighbourhoods of Constantinople:
Commercial and Residential Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Centuries.”
Also by Magdalino, “Medieval Constantinople” in Studies on the History
and Topography of Constantinople is useful as is Cyril Mango’s “The
Development of Constantinople as an Urban Centre.” On the city’s
commercial geography, see Marlia M. Mango “The Commercial Map
of Constantinople.” A walk through the capital, with much informa-
tion useful to the traveler seeking a sense of the locals’ understanding
of their own city can be found in the Patria of Constantinople recently
edited and translated by Albrecht Berger in Accounts of Medieval
Constantinople: The Patria.
On gossip in the capital and on popular opinion, see Chapter 5
in Anthony Kaldellis’ The Byzantine Republic: People and Power in
New Rome (pp. 197–98). On gossip relating to Michael IV, Psellos’
Chronographia (Book 3.18–21) is our best source. On the empress Zoe
see Barbara Hill, Imperial Women in Byzantium 1025–1204 (pp. 42–55)
and “Imperial Women and the Ideology of Womanhood in the eleventh
and twelfth centuries” (pp. 79–82). The special position of the empress
in the Byzantine political scene is the focus of Judith Herrin’s “The
Many Empresses of the Byzantine Court (And their Many Attendants).”

For an overview of Byzantine attitudes toward elite women, see Kathryn
Ringrose, “The Byzantine Body” in The Oxford Handbook of Women and
Gender in Medieval Europe. Neil Bronwen and Lynda Garland address
Questions of Gender in Byzantine Society.
On love, eros, and the senses, subjects little touched by a field of stud-
ies that is sometimes all too focused on asceticism, see Hans G. Beck’s
essential Byzantinisches Erotikon. Stratis Papaioannou, “Michael Psellos on
friendship and love: erotic discourse in eleventh-century Constantinople”
takes us to Attaleiates and Psellos’ world of eleventh-century sensibilities.
Paolo Odorico explores the rhetorical dimensions of discourses on love in
“L’amour à Byzance: Un sujet de rhétorique?” while the edited volume
by Ingela Nilsson considers Plotting with Eros: Essays on the Poetics of Love
and the Erotics of Reading. On Byzantine erotic visual imagery, see Eunice
Dauterman Maguire and Henry Maguire, Other Icons: Art and Power in
Byzantine Secular Culture.
On Byzantine education, Athanasios Markopoulos offers a useful
survey in “Teachers and Textbooks in Byzantium: Ninth to Eleventh
Centuries.” As ever, Markopoulos provides extensive bibliogra-
phy. A classic work on Byzantine letters is Paul Lemerle’s Byzantine
Humanism, the First Phase: Notes and Remarks on Education and
Culture in Byzantium from Its Origins to the 10th Century. Section 17
on “Language, Education, and Literacy” in the Oxford Handbook of
Byzantine Studies (pp. 777–826) is an useful introduction to the fields
of Language, Education, Literacy, Numeracy, and Science and the study
of Byzantine Libraries. The reader will find here short chapters on each
subject and the basic bibliography necessary for navigating the field.
Specifically for Psellos’ influence on future generations of historians, see
Anthony Kaldellis’ Hellenism in Byzantium (Chapter 4, pp. 191–224).
Section 14 of Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (pp. 691–98)
by Bernard Stolte is an introduction to Byzantine Legal literature. On
law and legal education in Byzantium little in English had been pro-
duced until recently (for that see bibliographical essay for Chapter 7).
Two seminal pieces appeared in the 1970s in Traveaux et Memoirs by
Wanda Wolska-Conus: “L’école de droit et l’enseignement du droit
à Byzance au XIe siècle: Xiphilin et Psellos” and “Les écoles de Psellos
et de Xiphilin sous Constantine IX Monomaque.” In German, one may
read Marie Theres Fögen, “Modell und Mythos. Die Rechtsfakultäten
von Konstantinopel, Neapel und Bologna im Mittelatler” for a focus on
the eleventh century and in Italian Fausto Goria’s “Il giurista nell’impero
romano d’Orient (da Giustiniano agli inizi del secolo XI).” On the Peira
consult Nicolas Oikonomides’ “The ‘Peira’ of Eustathios Rhomaios:
An Abortive Attempt to Innovate in Byzantine Law.” More recently,
Zachary Ray Chitwood’s Byzantine Legal Culture (p. 150–83) outlines
the operation of Byzantine legal education. His analysis contests some
of the arguments developed in the two pieces by Wanda Wolska-Conus
cited above.
Chapter 6
The chapter by Cécile Morrisson and Jean-Claude Cheynet on
“Prices and Wages in the Byzantine World” in the Economic History
of Byzantium (pp. 815–78) is a useful source for all manner of
price that one may wish to consult while reconstructing daily life in
Constantinople. In it, the reader will find references to primary sources,
which are otherwise too diffuse and numerous to cite separately. Paul
Lemerle wrote in the 1970s the foundational work on Attaleiates’ prop-
erty, fortune, and investments. A chapter of his Cinq études sur le XIe
siècle byzantin was dedicated to Attaleiates and his pious foundation,
working out aspects of the economic strategies expressed within the
Diataxis. After him, Paul Gautier provided essential biographical back-
ground for Attaleiates, clarifying aspects of his career in his introduction
to the 1979 edition of the Diataxis in Revue des Études Byzantines. My
own Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline dedicated a
chapter to the judge’s biography (Chapter 1), with focused attention on
his economic strategies as those can be traced in the Diataxis. The pres-
ent chapter returns to this material and builds on it in order to bring
Attaleiates’ household to life. The reader could refer to this other work
for detailed bibliographical reference on issues addressed here that range
from Charistike grants and court titulature to the specific location of
churches and monasteries patroned by Attaleiates.
The stipulations of the Diataxis raise important questions regard-
ing elite privilege, imperial grants, and tax exemptions in Byzantium.
Nicolas Oikonomides’ Fiscalité et exemption fiscale à Byzance (IXe–XIIe
s.) is essential reading on this very issue. For a more recent discussion in
English of many central questions regarding this issue, one should con-
sult Mark Bartusis’ lucid analysis in Land and Privilege in Byzantium:
The Institution of Pronoia, especially Chapters 3 and 4.
Any discussion on the Byzantine household must take place in the

context of broader conversations about Byzantine family life. In our
field, the work of Alexander Kazhdan and specifically People and Power in
Byzantium: An Introduction to Modern Byzantine Studies have for years
set the tone, by presenting the Byzantines as selfish political agents with
no degree of loyalty toward one another beyond family links. Kazhdan
defined the Byzantine family as a tight, roughly four-person unit, basi-
cally a nuclear household. This view has come under scrutiny in the past
few years. My own Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline
views Attaleiates as a social agent with family interests but also much
wider social, cultural, and political horizons than those set by Kazhdan.
While one may with reason scrutinize Kazhdan’s take on the Byzantine
family, his work with Silvia Ronchey on the nature of the Byzantine aris-
tocracy and, by extension, Byzantine aristocratic families is essential read-
ing: L’aristocrazia bizantina: dal principio dell’XI al fine dell’XII secolo.
For recent scholarship on the Byzantine family, one may consult the
volume edited by Leslie Brubaker and Shaun Tougher, Approaches to the
Byzantine Family with interesting articles on “Social Mobility” (Claudia
Ludwig, pp. 233–46), the “Greek and Roman origins of Byzantine fam-
ily structures” (Mary Harlow and Tim Parkin, pp. 1–20), and “The
Middle Byzantine house and family” (Simon Ellis, pp. 247–72).
Chapter 7
Zachary Ray Chitwood’s Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal
Tradition, 867–1056 offers an essential guide into the legal establishment
of the tenth and eleventh centuries, with elegant chapters on Eustathios
Romaios and essential correctives on older work about the nature
of legal debates in the eleventh century. For the legal process and the
courts in Constantinople a work in Greek by Andreas Goutzioukostas,
Administration of Justice in Byzantium (9th–12th Centuries): Judicial
Officers and Secular Tribunals of Constantinople. Both Chitwood and
Goutzioukostas provide essential bibliographical signposting on the
matter of Byzantine justice. On the practice of law in Byzantium in
the period under study, see Dieter Simon and Angeliki E. Laiou, Law
and Society in Byzantium: Ninth–Twelfth Centuries. If one wishes to
go deeper and think more about the practice of law Roos Meijering,
“Ῥωμαïκαὶ ἀγωγαί. Two Byzantine Treatises on Legal Actions” is useful.
On the relationship between the palace and the city, see Judith
Herrin, “Byzantium, the Palace and the City” in Margins and Metropolis:
Authority Across the Byzantine Empire. For the social dimension of this
relationship, see Paul Magdalino, “The People and the Palace.” Michael
Featherstone’s “The everyday palace in the tenth century” offers essen-
tial signposting for understanding the physical reality of the Byzantine
court. For the Byzantine court as a society separate from even if embed-
ded in Constantinople, the volume edited by Henry Maguire titled
Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204 is an accessible survey. In it,
Alexander Kazhdan and Michael McCormick suggest in “The Social
World of the Byzantine Court,” (p. 174) that the senate in the days
of Attaleiates had a membership of about 2000 men. The chapters by
Jeffrey Featherstone and Jean-Claude Cheynet on “Emperor and Court”
(pp. 505–17) and “Bureaucracy and Aristocracies” (pp. 518–26) in
the Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies offer useful introductions
to Byzantine court society, the bureaucracy and the interaction among
court, officialdom, and the Byzantine aristocracy.
On the Astrolabe of Brescia, see O. M. Dalton, The Byzantine
Astrolabe at Brescia. More on Byzantine astronomical instruments
can be found in Judith V. Field and Michael T. Wright’s “Gears from
the Byzantines: A Portable Sundial with Calendrical Gearing.” Much
of what we know of Byzantine court rhythms comes from a peculiar
tenth-century document on ceremonial, known by its Latin title as the
De Cerimoniis Aulae Byzantini. This text was produced at the order
of Emperor Konstantinos VII in the middle of the century and col-
lects information about a series of ceremonial occasions unfolding in
both the palace grounds and the city as a whole. More can be gleaned
about court ceremonial from the so-called treatises of precedence (ex.
The Kleterologion of Theophilos), documents dated to different times in
the history of the empire that list ranks of officials as they would appear
before the emperor in formal occasions. The reader of this material needs
to remain ever vigilant. Some of the material in Konstantinos VII’s com-
pendium is clearly of no more than antiquarian value, while the treaties
of precedence may represent moments in time in what was likely a rather
more fluid system of ranks. That said, such material is essential in our
effort to reconstruct Romanía’s court life and is therefore used here with
plausibility rather than confirmable accuracy in mind.
On Maleses’ life and career, see Michael Attaleiates and the Politics if
Imperial Decline (pp. 237–43) with a discussion of the relevant scholarship.
On his position as Logothetes of the Waters, see Jim Crow, “Ruling the
Waters: Managing the Water Supply of Constantinople, AD 330–1204.”
Eva De Vries—Van der Velden presented Psellos’ relationship with the cir-
cles of Romanos in “Psellos, Romain Diogénès et Mantzikert.”
Chapter 8
On the position of army judge held by Attaleiates, the reader should
consult John Haldon, “The krites tou stratopedou: a new office for a
new situation?” On the same matter, see Andreas Gkoutzioukostas,
“Ο κριτής του στρατοπέδου και ο κριτής του ϕοσσάτου.” For military jus-
tice, one may also look at an article in Greek by Taxiarchis Kolias, titled:
“Tα στρατιωτικά εγκλήματα κατά τους βυζαντινούς χρόνους.”
Chapter 8 charts the multiple links that existed between the impe-
rial camp and the people traveling with the emperor around the empire
and the population of the polity at large. To achieve this goal, one
relies on hundreds of letters between people of Attaleiates’ social and
professional circle and their contacts around the empire. Navigating
this material is by no means straightforward. One resource availa-
ble to everyone is the Prosopography of the Byzantine World main-
tained by Kings’ College in London and available online: http://blog.
pbw.cch.kcl.ac.uk under the supervision of a team headed by Michael
Jeffreys. For those seeking information on Psellos’ letter collection, see
Eustratios Papaioannou and his “Das Briefcorpus des Michael Psellos:
Vorarbeiten zu einer kritischer Edition; mit einem Anhang: Edition
eines unbekannten Briefes.”
There is extensive scholarship on the Byzantine army, its organization,
and performance. John Haldon’s many articles and books touch upon
the subject. Warfare, State and Society in the Byzantine World 565–1204
offers a general comprehensive synopsis. Specifically on the army in the
eleventh century, Haldon’s recent “L’armée au XIe siècle, quelques
questions” is a succinct summation of the latest scholarly debates. On the
links between army units and local people, Walter Kaegi’s “Regionalism
in the Balkan Armies of the Byzantine Empire” is still current.
The study of the Byzantine army does raise the question of the
place of foreign mercenaries in both army and society. Who is Roman
and who not? This question has been repeatedly addressed in Jonathan
Shepard’s work: “Aspects of Byzantine Attitudes and Policy towards the

West in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries,” “When Greek Meets Greek:
Alexius Comnenus and Bohemond in 1097–8,” and “The Uses of the
Frank in Eleventh-Century Byzantium.” On Byzantine outsiders also, see
Dion C. Smythe’s edited volume: Strangers to Themselves: The Byzantine
Outsider: Papers from the Thirty-Second Spring Symposium of Byzantine
Studies, University of Sussex, Brighton, March 1998. Outside the narrow
space of the army, the question of Romanitas has been recast recently by
Anthony Kaldellis in Hellenism in Byzantium and The Byzantine Republic
(see bibliographical essays for the Introduction and Chapter 10). For the
negotiations with Guiscard, see Helen Bibicou’s “Une page d’histoire
diplomatique de Byzance au XI siecle: Robert Guiscard et la pension des
dignitaires.” Olympias—Helena, Bohemond’s sister had been brought
up at the Byzantine court.
Regarding the career of Rouselios, George Lebeniotes’ Το στασιαστικό
κίνημα του Νορμανδού Ουρσελίου στην Μικρά Aσία (1073–1076)
(p. 46) considers the possibility that Attaleiates knew him personally.
I am convinced that court and campaign life made such a relationship
inevitable and that Attaleiates’ fascination with the foreign warriors was
certainly based on such an acquaintance. Lebeniotes also discusses (pp.
74–84) Rouselios’ career before the rebellion. This opens in Sicily when,
already in 1063, Rouselios was among the Normans who defeated the
Muslim forces facing them at the battle of Cerami. He had fought next
to Robert Guiscard. Lebeniotes discusses (pp. 64–66 and pp. 70–74)
the Norman presence in the Armeniakon province and (p. 156 and
pp. 164–67) the various fortresses controlled by Rouselios. Eleaonora
Kountoura-Galake, «Θέμα Αρμενιακόν» in Η Μικρά Ασία των Θεμάτων:
Έρευνες πάνω στην Γεωγραϕική ϕυσιογνωμία και προσωπογραϕία των
Βυζαντινών Θεμάτων της Μικράς Ασίας, 7ος-11ος αι. edited by Vasiliki
Vlysidou considers the case of Hervè Frangopoulos (p. 129) and Crispin
(p. 165). Mark Whittow, “Rural Fortification in Western Europe and
Byzantium, Tenth to Twelfth Century” (pp. 64–67) on the non-martial
nature of the Byzantine aristocratic oikos. On Byzantine aristocratic oikoi
as luxurious villas to be juxtaposed to the forts used by the Normans,
see Βυζαντινά Έγγραϕα Μονής Πάτμου II edited by Maria Nystazopoulou
Pelekidou. Specifically pp. 7–9 on the oikos of Andronikos Doukas in the
area of Miletos.
Chapter 9
Romanos’ campaigning in Anatolia has long attracted the attention of
scholars. Using Attaleiates’ detailed analysis of Romanos’ campaigns,
John G. C. Anderson reconstructed the Byzantine army’s trajectories in
the years from 1068 to 1071 for his article “The road system of Asia
Minor.” Anderson’s map needs to be treated carefully as it does not
properly plot roads on relief. It does, however, offer a general template.
When it comes to mapping Asia Minor, useful resources may be found in
the Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World edited by Richard
Talbert and Thomas A. Sinclair’s Eastern Turkey: An Architectural and
Archaeological Survey. This book’s map of Romanía’s eastern frontier,
as it extended from Syria to Mesopotamia all the way to Armenia, sit-
uates placenames, as they appear in Attaleiates’ History, and guides the
reader through plausible trajectories, accounting for relief, without actu-
ally marking military roads and mule tracks that may or may not have
been active in the eleventh century. For the logistics and details of the
Mantzikert campaign, see John Haldon’s essential “Marching across
Anatolia: Medieval Logistics and Modeling the Mantzikert Campaign.”
Chapter 10
The discussion in this chapter stems from debates both old and new. Already
from the early days of British Byzantine studies, John Bagnell Bury noted
in his “The Constitution of the Later Roman Empire” the presence of
a legal framework defining the functioning of the political system and set-
ting the parameters for the operation of the imperial office in the context
of the Roman res publica. Hans-Georg Beck further developed this idea in
a non-systematic manner in the 70s. Despite these important insights, the
general consensus in the field of Byzantine studies has veered in a differ-
ent direction. Alexander Kazhdan notes in “The Emperor’s New Clothes”
(p. 31) that “Byzantium was autocratic, antiquity republican.” Thus in
less than a line on one single page the breach between antiquity and the
Middle Ages was given a political dimension. In Byzantium, the Empire of
New Rome by Cyril Mango (p. 219) we read: “not only did God ordain the
existence of the empire, He also chose each individual emperor, which was
why no human rules were formulated for his appointment.” His colleague
at Oxford, Dame Averil Cameron notes in her recent survey The Byzantines
(pp. 12–14) that the essence of Byzantine ideology was Christian, blended
perhaps with Hellenic elements from the empire’s eastern Greek heritage.
To quote from the title of an influential article by Cyril Mango, Romanía’s
Roman past and its long traditions of governance with all their ideologi-
cal underpinnings are to be treated as a “Distorting Mirror.” Even George
Ostrogorsky’s magisterial, History of the Byzantine State, sets the stage for
the sidelining of society by focusing on the impersonal state and its relation-
ship with atomized peasants, rather than conceiving society as a collective of
political wills. For too long then, scholarship, for all its subtlety and signifi-
cant contribution to our understanding of Byzantium, did not veer too far
from Uspenskij and Vasil’evskij’s nineteenth-century view of the empire as
an orthodox union of villages under an absolute monarch.
And yet there is much more to Byzantium’s Roman identity. In The
Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World edited by Michael
Peachin, Clifford Ando’s “Chapter 2: From Republic to Empire” described
the Roman people (his argument could be extended to their Byzantine
heirs and successors) as “shareholders in the res publica and in their cor-
porate capacity still sovereign in the state” (pp. 61). Anthony Kaldellis fol-
lowed Ando’s lead and recently offered a redefinition of the nature of
the Byzantine political community. First came his claim in Hellenism in
Byzantium that the middle Byzantine political community was in fact a
community of national Romans, a position elaborated and refined in an arti-
cle: “From Rome to New Rome, from Empire to Nation State: Reopening
the Question of Byzantium’s Roman Identity.” What followed was a radi-
cal re-reading of Byzantine history along republican lines presented in The
Byzantine Republic: People and Power in New Rome. The political commu-
nity that was Byzantium as presented in the book in your hands owes much
to these more recent readings.
In parallel with Kaldellis’ work, though more timid in my conclusions,
I have in years past charted Attaleiates’ political opinions, suggesting that
we may find in the judge’s legal and historical writings elements of con-
scious and methodical valorization of republican thinking and popular
activity: “‘Democratic’ Action in Eleventh-Century Byzantium: Michael
Attaleiates’ ‘Republicanism’ in Context” and Michael Attaleiates and the
Politics of Imperial Decline. Not fully aware at that time of the full scope
of Kaldellis’ revisionism, I read Byzantine republicanism as an outcrop of
eleventh-century social and economic developments. In this book, I find
myself transitioning from my more cautious early conclusions to the radi-
cal but rather more convincing reassessment offered by Kaldellis.
This transition has been made easier by new work on Byzantium.

Leonora Neville’s excellent Heroes and Romans in Twelfth-Century
Byzantium: The Material for History of Nikephoros Bryennios offers an
eloquent reading of the Komnenian court through a Roman republi-
can lens, while my former MA student at SFU, Chris Dickert, outlined
in revealing fashion the significance of urban autonomy and concerted
popular action in Byzantine Southern Italy in Attaleiates’ lifetime,
thus opening the door to further studies of urban autonomy and poli-
tics in Byzantium. As noted by Kaldellis in The Byzantine Republic, cit-
ing Theophilos, Institouta 1.2.6, in Zepos, Jus Graecoromanum, vol. 3,
9, an Emperor is he who is granted the authority to rule by the people
(βασιλεύς ἐστι ὁ τὸ κράτος τοῦ ἄρχειν παρὰ τοῦ δήμου λαβών). Much of
what you read in this chapter is an attempt to consider the implications
of this statement for political thought in the eleventh century.
Chapter 11
There is a large and rich literature on Byzantine monasteries as places
of spiritual contemplation. Similarly, from the direction of economic his-
tory, work has been done on monastic institutions and pious houses as
economic agents and players in the market economy. In this chapter, I
return to the Diataxis, which furnishes upon closer inspection all manner
of information on the social, material, and more strictly economic life of
Attaleiates’ monastery. John McGuckin’ “Monasticism and Monasteries”
(pp. 611–29) in the Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies offers an
overview with bibliography. Timothy Miller’s “Charitable Institutions”
(pp. 621–30) in the same volume provides a background for understand-
ing the charitable aspects of Attaleiates’ pious foundation.
For the place of monasteries in Byzantine society, the works of
Rosemary Morris and Peter Hatlie are essential. Both Monks and
Laymen in Byzantium, 843–1118 and The Monks and Monasteries of
Constantinople, ca. 350–850 offer essential context for understanding the
important links of the empire’s and more specifically the capital’s pious
foundations with both people and power in Byzantium. Michel Kaplan’s
“Les monastères et le siècle à Byzance: les investissements des laïcs au
XIe siècle” addresses an issue central in this chapter, i.e., the role of the
monastery as an economic unit and as a form of private investment.
The general reader may directly access a series of important primary
sources on the organization and operation of pious foundations that
are available online in translation in the Web site maintained by the

Dumbarton Oaks Centre for Byzantine Studies. Here one may find
Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, edited by John Thomas and
Angela Constantinides Hero. The documents offered here are rich and
allow for the study of both the ideological/theological concerns behind
the foundation of the monasteries and the economic character of said
foundations. A handy guide to daily rations and dietary realities in the
Middle Ages can be found in Jessica Banks’ Getting your Daily Bread,
Breads in Medieval Society which may be accessed here http://www.engr.
psu.edu/MTAH/pdfs/breadTCBO.pdf.
Already in the Byzantine era, there were severe critiques of the lives
of monks and the economic activities of monasteries. Eustathios of
Thessalonike in the twelfth century preached in the cathedral of the
empire’s second largest town on the evils of the monk’s indolence and
cupidity. Attaleiates and Psellos did much the same, in a far less direct
fashion in their own historical works. The worldliness of these monks
went hand in hand with other important developments. Byzantium had
a long tradition of aristocratic patronage of pious foundations as seen in
John P. Thomas’ Private Religious Foundations in the Byzantine Empire.
By the eleventh century, many monasteries that found themselves in
fiscal trouble were given, along with their assets, to private “investors”
who would restore the health of their finances in exchange for a cut of
the proceeds from the more efficient exploitation of the pious founda-
tion’s property. The practice gave lay administrators, the infamous charis
tikarioi, influence in the life of those foundations and raised serious
objections among members of the Church. On the charistike, both the
mechanics of it and the Church reactions to the practice see Chapters 6
and 7 in Thomas’ Private Religious Foundations (pp. 167–213) with the
relevant bibliography and Bartusis as seen above p. 253.
Chapter 12
Clifford Ando in his The Matter of the Gods: Religion and the Roman Empire
presents a vision of Roman religion as embedded in civic traditions that
fits with the outline of Attaleiates’ faith presented here. For the Byzantine
Empire, Leonora Neville in her Heroes and Romans in Twelfth Century
Byzantium (p. 120) makes a similar argument by looking at Komnenian era
writings and their instrumental use of religion. On the issue of conformity
and repression, one may always consult Robert Browning’s “Enlightenment
and Repression in Byzantium in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries,”

while Anthony Kaldellis’ work on Agathias, Prokopios, Ioannes Lydos, and
Psellos (see Bibliography) provides a blueprint for the study of literary dis-
sent in Byzantium. On the falling from grace of Choirosphaktes, see Paul
Magdalino’s “In Search of the Byzantine Courtier: Leo Choirosphaktes and
Constantine Manasses.”
For the eleventh-century intellectual scene, there is now Floris
Bernard’s Writing and Reading Byzantine Secular Poetry, 1025–1081 as
well as his articles “Asteiotes and the ideal of the urban intellectual in
eleventh-century Byzantium” and “Greet me with words. Gifts and intel-
lectual friendships in eleventh-century Byzantium.” On Psellos, Anthony
Kaldellis’ The Argument of Psellos’ Chronographia is essential. Here one
may follow Kaldellis’ discussion of monasticism in his study of Psellos’
attitude toward the Naziraioi (pp. 83–89). On the rapport of Stethatos
and Psellos, see Frederick Lauritzen’s fascinating piece “Psello discepolo
di Stetato” suggesting certain points of intellectual contact between rig-
orist and humanist. Lauritzen, however, also notes in “An ironic por-
trait of a social monk: Christopher of Mytilene and Niketas Stethatos”
(p. 207) that Psellos and Stethatos competed for the attention of the
educated.
Alexander Kazhdan “The Social Views of Michael Attaleiates,” specif-
ically p. 77, for the questionable notion of Attaleiates as a “conventional
Christian” and p. 85 on his distance from Psellos and presumed proxim-
ity to the circles of the patriarch Michael Keroularios. On Attaleiates and
universal religious values, see Anthony Kaldellis’ “A Byzantine Argument
for the Equivalence of All Religions: Michael Attaleiates on Ancient and
Modern Romans.” On the judge’s instrumental view of religion, piety, and
the role of the divine in history, see Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of
Imperial Decline, Chapter 5. The clash of Emperor Isaakios Komnenos
with the imperious Keroularios can be followed in my “Sacred Emperor,
Holy Patriarch: A New Reading of the Clash between Emperor Isaakios I
Komnenos and Patriarch Michael Keroularios in Attaleiates’ History.”
In Chapter 1 (specifically pp. 31–58) of her elegant little book
Arguing it Out: Discussion in Twelfth-Century Byzantium, Averil
Cameron asks important questions about the social and political sig-
nificance of dialogue as a literary genre in twelfth century. The world
revealed by her presentation and queries is one in which discussion,
debate, and disputation (she is very cautious using this one term) mark
the political and more broadly the cultural life of the empire. She also
notes, without delving into that, that what we see in the twelfth century
may have to also be sought in the eleventh. Cameron’s discussion of the
intersection of religion, philosophy, and rhetoric is also useful for any-
one seeking to understand the very questions and problems presented in
this chapter. She offers no clear answer and neither do I here. Questions,
however, remain and there is much work to be done on them in the
future.
Bibliography
Ancient and Medieval Works

Al-Muqaddasi. Bibliotheca Geographorum Arabicorum, 3: Descriptio Imperii
Moslemici, ed. Michael Jan de Goeje (Leiden: Brill, 1967).
Anonymous. Accounts of Medieval Constantinople in Accounts of Medieval
Constantinople: The Patria, trans. Albrecht Berger (Washington, DC:
Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 2013).
———. The Miracles of St. Artemios in The Miracles of St. Artemios: A Collection
of Miracle Stories by an Anonymous Author of Seventh-Century Byzantium.
Supplemented by a Reprinted Greek Text and an Essay by John F. Haldon, ed.
and trans. Virgil S. Crisafulli and John W. Nesbitt (Leiden: Brill, 1996).
———. The Rodian Sea Law in The Rodian Sea-Law, ed. and trans. Walter
Ashburner (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1903).
———. The Russian Primary Chronicle in The Russian Primary Chronicle:
Laurentinian Text, ed. and trans. Cross Samuel Hazzard and Olgerd P.
Sherbowitz-Wetzor (Cambridge, MA: The Medieval Academy of America,
1953).
Attaleiates Michael. Ponema Nomikon in Jus graecoromanum 7, ed. Ioannes
Zepos and Panayiotis Zepos (Athens: Georgios Phexis and Son, 1931),
pp. 411–97.
———. Diataxis in “La Diataxis de Michel Attaliate,” ed. Paul Gautier, Revue
des Etudes Byzantines 39 (1989), pp. 5–143.
———. Diataxis in Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents, trans. Talbot
Alice-Mary, Vol. 1, pp. 326–76 (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2000).
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8
266 Bibliography
———. History in Miguel Ataliates: Historia, ed. and trans. Inmaculada Pérez
Martín (Madrid: Consejo Superior de Investigaciones Científicas, 2002).
———. History in Michael Attaleiates, The History, trans. Anthony Kaldellis and
Dimitris Krallis (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 2012).
Bryennios Nikephoros. History in Nicéphore Bryennios, Histoire, ed. and trans.
Gautier Paul (Bruxelles: Byzantion, 1975).
Choniates Niketas. History in Nicetae Choniatae Historia, ed. Jan L. van Dieten
(Berlin and New York: W. de Gruyter, 1975).
Ibn Hauqal. Kitāb Sūrat al-ard in Ibn Hauqal: La Configuration de la Terre
(Kitāb Sūrat al-ard), ed. Johannes H. Kramers and Gaston Wiet (Beirut and
Paris: G. P. Maisonneuve & Larose, 1964).
Ibn Miskawayh. Experiences in The Eclipse of the ‘Abbasid Caliphate: Original
Chronicle of the Fourth Islamic Century, vol. 5, ed. and trans. David Samuel
Margoliouth and Henry Frederick Amedroz (Oxford: Blackwell, 1921).
Kekaumenos. Strategikon in Κεκαυμένος, Στρατηγικόν, trans. Dimitris
Tsougkarakis (Athens: Agrostis, 1996).
Komnene Anna. Annae Comnenae Alexias, ed. Diether R. Reinsch and
Athanasios Kambylis (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 2001).
Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos. De Ceremoniis in Konstantinos
Porphyrogennetos: The Book of Ceremonies in 2 Volumes, trans. Anne Moffatt
ed. J. Reiske (Canberra: Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, 2012).
———. De Administrando Imperio in Constantine Porphyrogenitus: De
Administrando Imperio, ed. Gyula Moravcsik, trans. Romilly J. H. Jenkins
(Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1967).
Konstantinos the Rhodian. On Constantinople in Constantine of Rhodes, on
Constantinople and the Church of the Holy Apostles, trans. Liz James (Farnham:
Ashgate, 2012).
Leon VI, The Book of the Eparch in Das Eparchenbuch Leons des Weisen in
CFHB 33, ed. Johannes Koder (Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1991).
———. The Novels in Οι Νεαρές: Λέοντος του Σοϕού, trans. Spyridon Troianos
(Athens: Herodotos, 2007).
———. Taktika in The Taktika of Leo VI, ed. and trans. Dennis George T.
Leon Diakonos, History in Leonis Diaconi Caloënsis Historiae libri decem. Et
Liber de velitatione bellica Nicephori Augusti, ed. Charles B. Hase (Bonn:
Weber, 1828).
———. History in The History of Leo the Deacon Byzantine Military Expansion
in the Tenth Century for Translation, trans. Alice-Mary Talbott and Denis
F. Sullivan (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and
Collection, 2005).
Bibliography 267
Lydos Ioannes, De Magistratibus in Ioannes Lydus. On Powers or the Magistracies

of the Roman State, ed. Anastasius C. Bandy (Philadelphia: American
Philosophical Society, 1983).
Manasses Konstantinos, Short Chronicle in Constantini Manassis Breviarium
Chronicum, ed. Odysseas Lampsides (Athens: Academy of Athens, 1997).
Marcus Argentarius from the Palatine Anthology in The Greek Anthology 1, trans.
William R. Paton (London: William Heinemann, 1916).
Maurice, Strategikon in Maurice’s Strategikon. Handbook of Byzantine Military
Strategy trans. George T. Dennis (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania
Press, 1984).
———, Strategikon in Das Strategikon des Maurikios, ed. and trans. George T.
Dennis (Vienna: Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1981).
Mauropous Ioannes, Poems in The Poems of Christopher of Mytilene and John
Mauropous, trans. Floris Bernard and Christopher Livanos (Washington, DC:
Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 2018).
Mytilinaios Christophoros, Poems in The Poems of Christopher of Mytilene and
John Mauropous, trans. Floris Bernard and Christopher Livanos (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library, 2018).
Nicholas Mystikos, Letters in Nicholas I, Patriarch of Constantinople: Letters, ed.
and trans. Leendert G. Westerink and Romilly J. H. Jenkins (Washington,
DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1973).
Nikephoros Phokas, Treaty on Guerilla Warfare in Le traité sur la guérilla (De
velitatione) de l’empereur Nicéphore Phocas (963–969), ed. Gilbert Dagron
(Paris: CNRS, 1986).
Photios, Letters in Photii Patriarchae Constantinopolitani Epistulae et
Amphilochia, ed. B. Laourdas and L. G. Westerink (Leipzig: Teubner,
1983–1987).
Psellos Michael, Chronographia in Michel Psellos: Chronographie ou Histoire d’un
siècle de Byzance, ed. and trans. Émile Renauld (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1967).
———. Lesser Orations in Michaelis Pselli Oratoria Minora, ed. Anthony R.
Littlewood (Leipzig: Teubner, 1985).
———. On Euripides, George of Pisidia, Heliodorus and Achilles Tatius in Michael
Psellus: The Essays on Euripides and George of Pisidia and on Heliodorus and
Achilles Tatius, trans. Dyck Andrew (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der
Wissenschaften, 1986).
———. Historia Syntomos in Michaelis Pselli Historia Syntomos, ed. and trans. Jan
Aerts (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1990).
———. Poems in Michaelis Pselli Poemata, ed. Leendert G. Westerink (Leipzig:
Teubner, 1992).
———. Orations in Michaelis Psellis, Orationes Forenses, ed. George T. Dennis
(Leipzig: Teubner, 1994).
268 Bibliography
———. Panegyrical Orations in Michaelis Pselli Orationes Panegyricae, ed.

George T. Dennis (Leipzig: Teubner, 1994).
———. On His Family in Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters: The
Byzantine Family of Michael Psellos, trans. Anthony Kaldellis (South Bend, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press, 2006).
———. On the Patriarchs in Psellos and the Patriarchs: Letters and Funeral
Orations for Keroularios, Leichoudes and Xiphilinos, trans. Anthony Kaldellis
and Ioannis Polemis (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press,
2015).
———. On Literature and Art in Michael Psellos on Literature and Art: A
Byzantine Perspective on Aesthetics, trans. Stratis Papaioannou (South Bend,
IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2017).
Skylitzes Ioannes, Synopsis Historion in Ioannis Scylitzae Synopsis Historiarum, ed.
Johannes Thurn (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1973).
———. Synopsis Historion in John Skylitzes: A Synopsis of Byzantine History, 811–
1057, trans. John Wortley (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012).
Symeon Seth, On Comestibles in Simeonis Sethi Syntagma de Alimentorum
Facultatibus, ed. Bernhard Langkavel (Leipzig: Teubner, 1868).
———. Σύνοψις Φυσικῶν in Anecdota Atheniensia et alia 2, ed. Armand Delatte
(Paris: Université de Paris, 1939).
Theodosios Diakonos in Theodosii Diaconi De Creta capta, ed. Hugo Criscuolo
(Leipzig: Teubner, 1979).
Theophanes the Confessor, Chronicle in The Chronicle of Theophanes the
Confessor: Byzantine and Near Eastern History AD 284–813, trans. Cyril
Mango and Roger Scott (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997).
Modern Works
Ahrweiler, Helene. Byzance et la Mer: La Marine de Guerre, la Politique et
Les Institutions Maritimes de Byzance aux VIIe–XVe Siècles (Paris: Presses
Universitaires de France, 1966).
Anderson, Claire D. “Islamic Spaces and Diplomacy in Constantinople (Tenth
to Thirteenth Centuries C.E.),” Medieval Encounters 15 (2009), pp. 86–113.
Anderson, John G. C. “The Road System of Asia Minor.” The Journal of Hellenic
Studies 17 (1897), pp. 22–44.
Ando, Clifford. The Matter of the Gods: Religion and the Roman Empire
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 2008).
———. “Chapter 2: From Republic to Empire.” In Michael Peachin (ed.), The
Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2011), pp. 37–66.
Angold, Michael. “Inventory of the so-Called Palace of Botaneiates.” In M.
Angold (ed.), Byzantine Aristocracy, IX to XIII Centuries, BAR International
Series 221 (Oxford, 1984), pp. 254–66.
Bibliography 269
———. “The Shaping of the Medieval Byzantine ‘City’.” Byzantinische

Forschungen 10 (1985), pp. 1–37.
———. The Byzantine Empire, 1025–1204: A Political History (London:
Longman, 1997).
Avramea, Anna. “Land and Sea Communications, Fourth–Fifteenth Centuries.”
In Angeliki Laiou (ed.), The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh
Through the Fifteenth Century (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002),
pp. 57–90.
Ball, Jennifer L. Byzantine Dress: Representations of Secular Dress in Eighth- to
Twelfth-Century Painting (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006).
Barnes, Hugh, and Mark Whittow. “The Oxford University/British Institute of
Archaeology at Ankara Survey of Medieval Castles of Anatolia (1993). Yılanlı
Kalesi: Preliminary Report and New Perspectives.” Anatolian Studies 44
(1994), pp. 187–206.
Bartikian, Hrach M. “He lyse tou ainigmatos ton Mardaiton.” In Nia A. Stratos
(ed.), Byzantium: Tribute to A. N. Stratos 1: History—Art and Archaeology
(Athens: Stratos, 1986), pp. 17–39.
Bartusis, Mark. Land and Privilege in Byzantium: The Institution of Pronoia
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013).
Bass, George F., and Frederick H. van Doorninck, Jr. Yassı Ada. Vol. I: A
Seventh-Century Byzantine Shipwreck (College Station, TX: Texas A&M
University Consortium Press, 1982).
Bass, George F., Sheila D. Matthews, J. Richard Stefy, and Frederick H. van
Doorninck, Jr. Serçe Limanı. An Eleventh-Century Shipwreck. Vol. I, The Ship
and Its Anchorage, Crew, and Passengers (College Station, TX: Texas A&M
University Consortium Press, 2004).
Beaton, Roderick. “The Rhetoric of Poverty: The Lives and Opinions of
Theodore Prodromos.” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 11 (1987),
pp. 1–28.
Beck, Hans-Georg. Das byzantinische Jahrtausend (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1978).
———. Byzantinisches Erotikon (Munich: C. H. Beck, 1986).
Bernard, Floris. “Greet Me with Words. Gifts and Intellectual Friendships in
Eleventh-Century Byzantium.” In Michael Grünbart (ed.), Geschenke erhalten
die Freundschaft. Gabentausch und Netzwerkpflege im europäischen Mittelalter
(Münster: LIT Verlag, 2011), pp. 1–11.
———. “Asteiotes and the Ideal of the Urban Intellectual in Eleventh-Century
Byzantium” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 46 (2012), pp. 129–42.
———. Writing and Reading Byzantine Secular Poetry, 1025–1081 (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2014).
Bibicou, Helen. “Une page d’histoire diplomatique de Byzance au XIe siecle:
Michel VII Doukas, Robert Guiscard et la pension des dignitaires.” Byzantion
29–30 (1959–1960), pp. 43–75.
270 Bibliography
Bronwen, Neil, and Lynda Garland (ed.). Questions of Gender in Byzantine

Society (New York: Routledge, 2013).
Browning, Robert. “Enlightenment and Repression in Byzantium in the
Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries.” Past and Present 69 (1975), pp. 3–23.
Brubaker, Leslie, and Shaun Tougher (ed.). Approaches to the Byzantine Family
(Farnham: Ashgate, 2013).
Burgmann, Ludwig. “A Law for Emperors: Observations on a Chrysobull of
Nikephoros III Botaneiates.” In Paul Magdalino (ed.), New Constantines:
The Rhythm of Imperial Renewal in Byzantium (London: Ashgate-Variorum,
1994), pp. 247–58.
Constantinides Hero, Angela (ed.). Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents
Cameron, Alan. Circus Factions: Blues and Greens at Rome and Byzantium
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1976).
Cameron, Averil. Arguing It Out: Discussion in Twelfth-Century Byzantium
(Budapest: Central European University Press, 2016).
———. The Byzantines (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009).
Cheynet, Jean-Claude. Pouvoir et contestations à Byzance (963–1210) (Paris:
Éditions de la Sorbonne, 1990).
———. “Bureaucracy and Aristocracies.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.), The
Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008), pp. 518–26.
Chitwood, Zachary Ray. Byzantine Legal Culture and the Roman Legal
Tradition, 867–1056 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2017).
Chondridou, Stavroula. Ο Κωνσταντίνος Θ´Μονομάχος και η Εποχή του Ενδέκατος
Αιώνας [Constantine IX Monomachos and the Eleventh-Century Era]
(Athens: Herodotos, 2002).
Conrad, Lawrence. “The Conquest of Arwād: A Source-Critical Study in
the Historiography of the Early Medieval Near East.” In Averil Cameron
and Lawrence Conrad (ed.), The Byzantine and Early Islamic Near East I:
Problems in the Literary Source Material (Princeton: Darwin Press, 1992),
pp. 317–401.
Cotsonis, John A., and John W. Nesbitt. “The Virgin Aigyptia (The Egyptian)
on a Byzantine Lead Seal of Attaleia.” Byzantion 78 (2008), pp. 103–13.
Crane, Howard. “Evliya Çelebi’s Journey Through the Pamphylian Plain
in 1671–72.” Muqarnas 10: Essays in Honor of Oleg Grabar 10 (1993),
pp. 157–68.
Crow, Jim. “Ruling the Waters: Managing the Water Supply of Constantinople,
AD 330–1204.” Water History 4 (2012), pp. 35–55.
Cumont, Franz V., and Franz Boll (ed.). Catalogus Codicum Astrologorum
Graecorum (Brussels: Henry Lemertin, 1904).
Dagron, Gilbert. “Formes et fonctions du pluralisme linguistique à Byzance
(IXe–XIIe siècles).” Travaux et Mémoires 12 (1994), pp. 219–40.
Bibliography 271
Dalton, O. M. The Byzantine Astrolabe at Brescia (New York: Oxford University

Press, 1926).
Dagron, Gilbert. Constantinople imaginaire: etudes sur le recueil des Patria (Paris:
Presses Universitaires de France, 1984).
Dauterman Maguire, Eunice, and Henry Maguire. Other Icons: Art and Power
in Byzantine Secular Culture (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2007),
pp. 97–134.
De Vries Van der Velden, Eva. “La lune de Psellos.” Byzantinoslavica 57 (1996),
pp. 239–56.
———. “Psellos et son gendre.” Byzantinische Forschungen 23 (1996),
pp. 109–49.
———. “Psellos, Romain Diogénès et Mantzikert.” Byzantinoslavica 58 (1997),
pp. 274–310.
———. “Les amitiés dangereuses: Psellos et Léon Paraspondylos.”
Byzantinoslavica 60 (1999), pp. 315–50.
Dickert, Christopher H. Byzantium, Political Agency, and the City: A Case Study
in Urban Autonomy During the Norman Conquest of Southern Italy (MA
thesis; Burnaby, BC: Simon Fraser University, 2014).
Efthymiadis, Stephanos. “Audience, Language and Patronage in Byzantine
Hagiography.” In Stephanos Efthymiadis (ed.), The Ashgate Research
Companion to Byzantine Hagiography Vol. 2 Genres and Contexts (Burlington,
VT: Ashgate, 2014).
El-Cheikh, Nadia. Byzantium Viewed by the Arabs (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 2004).
Ellis, Simon. “The Middle Byzantine House and Family.” In Leslie Brubaker and
Shaun Tougher (ed.), Approaches to the Byzantine Family (Farnham: Ashgate,
2013), pp. 247–72.
Featherstone, Jeffrey. “Emperor and Court.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.),
The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008), pp. 505–17.
Featherstone, Michael. “The Everyday Palace in the Tenth Century.” In Michael
Featherstone, Jean M. Spieser et al. (ed.), The Emperor’s House: Palaces from
Augustus to the Age of Absolutism (Berlin: W. de Gruyter, 1915), pp. 149–53.
Ferguson, Charles A. “Diglossy.” In Pier P. Giglioli (ed.), Language in Social
Context (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1972), pp. 232–51.
Ferguson, Niall. Virtual History: Alternatives and Counterfactuals (New York:
Basic Books, 2000).
Field, Judith V., and Michael T. Wright. “Gears from the Byzantines: A Portable
Sundial with Calendrical Gearing.” Annals of Science 42 (1985), pp. 87–138.
Fögen, Marie Theres. “Modell und Mythos. Die Rechtsfakultäten von
Konstantinopel, Neapel und Bologna im Mittelatler.” Rechtshistorisches
Journal 15 (1996), pp. 181–204.
272 Bibliography
France, John. “The Occasion of the Coming of the Normans to Italy.” Journal of
Medieval History 17 (1991), pp. 185–205.
Gaddis, John Lewis. The Landscape of History: How Historians Map the Past
(Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002).
Gkoutzioukostas, Andreas. Administration of Justice in Byzantium (9th–12th
Centuries), Judicial Officers and Secular Tribunals of Constantinople
(Thessalonike: Centre for Byzantine Research, 2004).
———. “Ο κριτής του στρατοπέδου και ο κριτής του ϕοσσάτου.” Βυζαντινά 26
(2006), pp. 79–99.
Goria, Fausto. “Il giurista nell’impero romano d’Orient (da Giustiniano agli inizi
del secolo XI).” Fontes Minores 11 (2005), pp. 147–211.
Goitein, Shelomo D. A Mediterranean Society: The Jewish Communities of
the Arab World as Portrayed in the Documents of the Cairo Geniza, vol. 1
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1967).
Gouillard, Jean. “Un Chrysobulle de Nicéphore Botaneiates à souscription syn-
odale.” Byzantion 29–30 (1959–1960), pp. 29–41.
Haldon, John F. “Marching Across Anatolia: Medieval Logistics and Modeling
the Mantzikert Campaign.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 65/66 (2011–2012),
pp. 209–35.
———. A Critical Commentary on The Taktika of Leo VI (Washington, DC:
Dumbarton Oaks, 2014).
———. “L’armée au XIe siècle, quelques questions.” Travaux et Mémoires 21/2
(2017), pp. 581–92.
Haldon, John. Warfare, State and Society in The Byzantine World 565–1204
(London: Routledge, 1999).
———. “The krites tou stratopedou: A New Office for a New Situation?”
Travaux et Mémoires 14 (2002), pp. 279–86.
Harlow, Mary, and Tim Parkin “Greek and Roman Origins of Byzantine Family
Structures.” In Leslie Brubaker and Shaun Tougher (ed.), Approaches to the
Byzantine Family (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 1–20.
Harvey, Alan. Economic Expansion in the Byzantine Empire: 900–1200
Hatlie, Peter. The Monks and Monasteries of Constantinople, ca. 350–850
Hellenkemper, Hansgerd, and Hild Friedrich. Tabula Imperii Byzantini 8: Lykien
und Pamphylien I (Vienna: Österreichische Akademie der Wissenschaften,
2004).
Hennessy, Cecily. “The Byzantine Child: Picturing Complex Family Dynamics.”
In Leslie Brubaker and Shaun Tougher (ed.), Approaches to the Byzantine
Family (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013), pp. 207–32.
Herrin, Judith. “Byzantium, the Palace and the City.” In Judith Herrin (ed.),
Margins and Metropolis: Authority Across the Byzantine Empire (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2013), pp. 159–79.
Bibliography 273
———. “The Many Empresses of the Byzantine Court (and Their Many
Attendants).” In Judith Herrin (ed.), Unrivalled Influence: Women and
Empire in Byzantium (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013),
pp. 219–37.
Hill, Barbara. “Imperial Women and the Ideology of Womanhood in the
Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries.” In Liz James (ed.), Women, Men, and
Eunuchs Gender in Byzantium (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 79–82.
———. Imperial Women in Byzantium 1025–1204 (Harlow: Longman, 1999),
pp. 42–55.
Holmes, Catherine. Basil II and the Governance of Empire (976–1025) (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2006).
Hopkins, Keith. “Rome, Taxes, Rents, and Trade.” In Walter Scheidel (ed.), The
Ancient Economy (New York: Routledge, 2002), pp. 190–231.
Horrocks, Geoffrey. “Language.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.), The Oxford
Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008),
pp. 777–84.
Howard-Johnston, James. “The Peira and Legal Practices in Eleventh-Century
Byzantium.” In Marc D. Lauxtermann and Mark Whittow (ed.), Byzantium
in the Eleventh Century: Being in Between (Oxford, 2017), pp. 63–76.
Hunger, Herbert. Schreiben und Lesen in Byzanz. Die byzantinische Buchkultur
(Munich: C. H. Beck, 1989).
Ingram, Rebecca, and Michael Jones. “Yenikapı: Documenting Two Byzantine
Merchant Ships from the Yenikapı Excavations in Istanbul, Turkey.” INA
Annual (2010), pp. 8–17.
Jeffreys, Elizabeth. Four Byzantine Novels: Agapetus—Theodore Prodromos;
Rhodanthe and Dosikles—Eumathios Makrembolites; Hysmine and Hysminias—
Constantine Manasses; Aristandros and Kallithea—Niketas Eugenianos,
Drosilla and Charikles (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 2012).
Jenkins, Romilly. Byzantium: The Imperial Centuries, AD 610–1071 (Toronto:
University of Toronto Press, 1987).
Kaegi, Walter. “Regionalism in the Balkan Armies of the Byzantine Empire.”
In Walter Kaegi (ed.), Army, Society, and Religion in Byzantium (London:
Ashgate, 1982), No. XVIII.
———. “The Controversy About the Bureaucratic and Military Factions.”
Byzantinische Forschungen 19 (1993), pp. 25–33.
Kaldellis, Anthony. “Agathias on History and Poetry.” Greek, Roman, and
Byzantine Studies 38 (1997), pp. 295–305.
———. The Argument of Psellos’ Chronographia (Leiden: Brill, 1999).
———. “The Historical and Religious Views of Agathias: A Reinterpretation.”
Byzantion 69 (1999), pp. 206–52.
———. “Things Are Not What They Are: Agathias Mythistoricus and the Last
Laugh of Classical Culture.” Classical Quarterly 53 (2003), pp. 295–300.
———. “The Religion of Ioannes Lydos.” Phoenix 57 (2003), pp. 300–16.
274 Bibliography
———. “Identifying Dissident Circles in Sixth-Century Byzantium: The

Friendship of Prokopios and Ioannes Lydos.” Florilegium 21 (2004),
pp. 1–17.
———. Procopius of Caesarea: Tyranny, History, and Philosophy at the End of
Antiquity (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2004).
———. “Republican Theory and Political Dissidence in Ioannes Lydos.”
Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 29 (2005), pp. 1–16.
———. “A Byzantine Argument for the Equivalence of All Religions: Michael
Attaleiates on Ancient and Modern Romans.” International Journal of the
Classical Tradition 14 (2007), pp. 1–22.
———. Hellenism in Byzantium: The Transformation of Greek Identity and the
Reception of the Classical Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2007).
———. “Historicism in Byzantine Thought and Literature.” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 61 (2008), pp. 1–24.
———. “From Rome to New Rome, from Empire to Nation State: Reopening
the Question of Byzantium’s Roman Identity.” In Lucy Grig and Gavin
Kelly (ed.), Two Romes: Rome and Constantinople in Late Antiquity (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2012), pp. 387–404.
———. “The Byzantine Role in the Making of the Corpus of Classical Greek
Historiography: A Preliminary Investigation.” Journal of Hellenic Studies 132
(2012), pp. 71–85.
———. The Byzantine Republic: People and Power in New Rome (Boston, MA:
Harvard University Press, 2015).
———. Streams of Gold, Rivers of Blood: The Rise and Fall of Byzantium, 955
A.D. to the First Crusade (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).
Kaldellis, Anthony and Ioannis Polemis. Psellos and the Patriarchs: Letters and
Funeral Orations for Keroularios, Leichoudes and Xiphilinos (South Bend, IN:
University of Notre Dame Press, 2015).
Kaplan, Michel. “Les monastères et le siècle à Byzance: les investissements des
laïcs au XIe siècle.” In Michel Kaplan (ed.), Byzance: Villes et campagnes
(Paris: Picard, 2006), pp. 123–37.
Karayannopoulos, Ioannes E. Ιστορία του Βυζαντινού Κράτους 2 (Thessalonike,
1987).
Karpozilos, Apostolos. “Ταξιδιώτικές περιγραϕές και εντυπώσεις σε
επιστολογραϕικά κείμενα.” In Νikos G. Μoschonas (ed.), Η επικοινωνία στο
Βυζάντιο (Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research, 1993).
Kazhdan, Alexander P. People and Power in Byzantium An Introduction to
Modern Byzantine Studies (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1982).
———. “The Social Views of Michael Attaleiates.” In Alexander P. Kazhdan
(ed.), Studies on Byzantine Literature of the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984), pp. 23–86.
Bibliography 275
———. “The Emperor’s New Clothes.” History Today 39 (September 1989),

pp. 26–34.
———. “Latins and Franks in Byzantium.” In Angeliki E. Laiou and Roy P.
Mottahedeh (ed.), The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the
Muslim World (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2001), pp. 83–100.
Kazhdan, Alexander P., and Michael McCormick. “The Social World of the
Byzantine Court.” In Maguire Henry (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture from
829 to 1204 (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2004), pp. 167–97.
Kazhdan, Alexander P., and Ronchey Silvia. L’ aristocrazia bizantina: del princi
pio dell’ XI alla fine del XII secolo (Palermo: Sellerio, 1997).
Kelly, Christopher. Ruling the Later Roman Empire (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
Kiapidou, Sophia Eirini. Η σύνοψη ιστοριών του Ιωάννη Σκυλίτζη και οι πηγές της
(811–1057) (Athens: Kanaki, 2010).
Kolias, Taxiarchis. “Tα στρατιωτικά εγκλήματα κατά τους βυζαντινούς χρόνους.”
In Spyridon N. Troianos (ed.), Έγκλημα και τιμωρία στο Bυζάντιο (Athens:
Institute for Byzantine Research, 1997), pp. 295–316.
Koukoules, Faidon. Βυζαντινών βίος και πολιτισμός (Athens: Publications of the
French Institute of Athens, 1948–1955).
Kountoura-Galake, Eleaonora. «Θέμα Αρμενιακόν.» In Vasiliki Vlysidou (ed.),
Η Μικρά Ασία των Θεμάτων: Έρευνες πάνω στην Γεωγραϕική ϕυσιογνωμία
και προσωπογραϕία των Βυζαντινών Θεμάτων της Μικράς Ασίας, 7ος-11ος αι
(Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research, 1998), pp. 113–61.
Krallis, Dimitris. “‘Democratic’ Action in Eleventh-Century Byzantium: Michael
Attaleiates’ ‘Republicanism’ in Context.” Viator 40.2 (Fall 2009), pp. 35–53.
———. “Sacred Emperor, Holy Patriarch: A New Reading of the Clash
Between Emperor Isaakios I Komnenos and Patriarch Michael Keroularios in
Attaleiates’ History.” Byzantinoslavica 67 (2009), pp. 169–90.
———. Michael Attaleiates and the Politics of Imperial Decline in Eleventh
Century Byzantium (Tempe, AZ: ACMRS, 2012).
———. “Popular Political Agency in Byzantium’s Village and Towns.”
Byzantina Symmeikta 28 (2018), pp. 11–48.
Laiou, Angeliki (ed.). The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh to the
Fifteenth Century (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002).
Laiou, Angeliki, and Cecile Morrisson. The Byzantine Economy (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2007).
Lauritzen, Frederick. “An Ironic Portrait of a Social Monk: Christopher of
Mytilene and Niketas Stethatos.” Byzantinoslavica 65 (2007), pp. 201–10.
———. “Psello discepolo di Stetato.” Byzantinische Zeitschrift 101.2 (2008),
pp. 715–25.
Lauxtermann, Marc, and Michael Jeffreys (ed.). The Letters of Psellos: Cultural
Networks and Historical Realities (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2017).
276 Bibliography
Lebeniotes, George. Το στασιαστικό κίνημα του Νορμανδού Ουρσελίου στην Μικρά

Aσία (1073–1076) (Thessalonica: Vanias, 2004).
Lemerle, Paul. Cinq études sur le XIe siècle byzantin (Paris: CNRS, 1977).
———. Byzantine Humanism, the First Phase: Notes and Remarks on Education
and Culture in Byzantium from Its Origins to the 10th Century (Canberra:
Australian Association for Byzantine Studies, 1986).
Liebeschuetz, John. The Decline and Fall of the Roman City (Oxford: Oxford
Ljubarskij, Jacov. Η Προσωπικότητα και το Έργο του Μιχαήλ Ψελλού (Athens:
Kanaki, 2004).
Loud, Graham Alexander. “How ‘Norman’ Was the Norman Conquest of
Southern Italy?” Nottingham Medieval Studies 25 (1981), pp. 13–34.
———. “Continuity and Change in Norman Italy: The Campania During
the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries.” Journal of Medieval History 22.4
(December, 1996), pp. 313–43.
Lowden, John. “Byzantine Book Production.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.),
2008), pp. 462–72.
Ludwig, Claudia. “Social Mobility.” In Leslie Brubaker and Shaun Tougher
(ed.), Approaches to the Byzantine Family (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013),
pp. 233–46.
Maguire, Henry. “The Profane Aesthetic in Byzantine Art and Literature.”
Dumbarton Oaks Papers 53 (1999), pp. 189–205.
Magdalino, Paul. “The People and the Palace.” In Michael Featherstone, Jean
M. Spieser et al. (ed.), The Emperor’s House: Palaces from Augustus to the Age
of Absolutism (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1915), pp. 169–80.
———. “Byzantine Snobbery.” In Michael Angold (ed.), The Byzantine
Aristocracy, IX to XIII Centuries (Oxford: British Archaeological Reports,
1984), pp. 58–78.
———. The Byzantine Background to the First Crusade (Toronto: The
Foundation for Hellenic Culture, 1996).
———. “In Search of the Byzantine Courtier: Leo Choirosphaktes and
Constantine Manasses.” In Henry Maguire (ed.), Byzantine Court Culture
from 829 to 1204 (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1997), pp. 141–65.
———. “Paphlagonians in Byzantine High-Society.” In Βυζαντινή Μικρά Ασία
(6ος–12ος αι.), Κέντρο για τη Μελέτη του Ελληνισμού «Σπύρος Βρυώνης,» Αρχαίος,
Μεσαιωνικός, Νέος Ελληνισμός 27 (Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research,
1998), pp. 141–50.
———. “The Maritime Neighbourhoods of Constantinople: Commercial and
Residential Functions, Sixth to Twelfth Centuries.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers
54 (2000), pp. 209–26.
Bibliography 277
———. “Cultural Change? The Context of Poetry from Geometres to

Prodromos.” In Floris Bernard and Kristoffel Demoen (ed.), Poetry and Its
Contexts in Eleventh Century Byzantium (Ashgate: Farnham, 2012).
———. “The Byzantine Reception of Classical Astrology.” In Catherine Holmes
and Judith Waring (ed.), Literacy, Education and Manuscript Transmission in
Byzantium and Beyond (Leiden: Brill, 2002).
———. “Medieval Constantinople.” In Paul Magdalino (ed.), Studies on the
History and Topography of Constantinople (Ashgate: Aldershot, 2007),
pp. 1–111.
Maguire, Henry. Byzantine Court Culture from 829 to 1204 (Washington, DC:
Dumbarton Oaks, 2004).
Mango, Cyril. “Discontinuity with the Classical Past in Byzantium.” In Margaret
Mullet and Roger Scott (ed.), Byzantium and the Classical Tradition
(Birmingham: Centre for Byzantine Studies, 1979).
———. Byzantium, the Empire of New Rome (New York: Charles Scribner’s
Sons, 1980).
———. “Byzantine Literature as a Distorting Mirror.” In Cyril Mango (ed.),
Byzantium and Its Image (Farnham: Ashgate-Variorum, 1984).
———. “The Development of Constantinople as an Urban Centre.” In The 17th
International Byzantine Congress, Major Papers (New Rochelle, NY: A. D.
Caratzas, 1986), pp. 117–36.
Mango, Marlia M. “The Commercial Map of Constantinople.” Dumbarton Oaks
Papers 54 (2000), pp. 189–207.
Markopoulos, Athanasios. “Teachers and Textbooks in Byzantium: Ninth to
Eleventh Centuries.” In Sita Steckel, Niels Gaul, and Michael Grunbart (ed.),
Networks of Learning. Perspectives on Scholars in Byzantine East and Latin
West, c. 1000–1200 (Berlin: LIT Verlag, 2014), pp. 3–16.
Matthews, John. The Journey of Theophanes: Travel, Business, and Daily Life in the
Roman East (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2007).
Mayor, Adrienne. The Poison King: The Life and Legend of Mithridates, Rome’s
Deadliest Enemy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010).
McCormick, Michael. Origins of the European Economy: Communications and
Commerce AD 300–900 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002).
McGeer, Eric, trans. and comm. The Land Legislation of the Macedonian
Emperors (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2000).
McGuckin, John. “Monasticism and Monasteries.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al.
(ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2008), pp. 611–29.
Meiggs, Russell. Trees and Timber in the Mediterranean World (Oxford: Oxford
Meijering, Roos. “Ῥωμαïκαὶ ἀγωγαί. Two Byzantine Treatises on Legal Actions.”
Fontes Minores 8 (1990), pp. 1–152.
278 Bibliography
Milovanović-Barham, Čelica. “Three Levels of Style in Gregory of Nazianzus:

The Case of Oration 43.” Classica et Medievalia 45 (1994), pp. 193–210.
Moosa, Matti. “The Relation of the Maronites of Lebanon to the Mardaites and
al-Jarājima.” Speculum 44 (1969), pp. 597–608.
Morris, Rosemary. Monks and Laymen in Byzantium, 843–1118 (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2003).
Morrisson, Cécile. “La Dévaluation de la Monnaie Byzantine.” Travaux et
Mémoires 6 (1976), pp. 3–47.
Morrisson, Cécile and Jean-Claude Cheynet. “Prices and Wages in the Byzantine
World.” In Angeliki Laiou (ed.), The Economic History of Byzantium: From the
Seventh Through the Fifteenth Century (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
2002), pp. 815–78.
Mullet, Margaret. Theophylact of Ochrid: Reading the Letters of a Byzantine
Archbishop (Aldershot: Variorum, 1997).
Neville, Leonora. Authority in Byzantine Provincial Society, 950–1100
———. Heroes and Romans in Twelfth Century Byzantium: The Material for
History of Nikephoros Bryennios (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
2012).
———. “Organic Local Government and Village Authority.” In Pamela
Armstrong (ed.), Authority in Byzantium (Farnham: Ashgate, 2013),
pp. 285–95.
Niewohner, Philipp (ed.) The Archaeology of Byzantine Anatolia: From the End
of Late Antiquity Until the Coming of the Turks (Oxford: Oxford University
Press, 2017).
Nilsson, Ingela. Plotting with Eros: Essays on the Poetics of Love and the Erotics of
Reading (Copenhagen: Museum Tusculanum Press, 2009).
Noyé, Ghislaine. “La Calabre entre Byzantins, Sarrasins et Normands.” In
E. Cuozzo and J.-M. Martin (ed.), Cavalieri alla conquista del Sud. Studi sull’
Italia normanna in memoria di L.-R. Ménager (Rome-Bari: Laterza, 1998),
pp. 90–116.
Nystazopoulou Pelekidou, Maria (ed.). Βυζαντινά Έγγραϕα Μονής Πάτμου II
(Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research, 1980).
Odorico, Paolo. “L’amour à Byzance: Un sujet de rhétorique?” Europe 822
(October 1997), pp. 34–46.
Oikonomides, Nicolas. “The ‘Peira’ of Eustathios Rhomaios: An Abortive
Attempt to Innovate in Byzantine Law.” Fontes Minores 7 (1986),
pp. 169–92.
———. Fiscalité et exemption fiscale à Byzance (IXe–XIIe s.) (Athens: Institute of
Byzantine Research, 1996).
———. «L᾽«unilinguisme» officiel de Constantinople byzantine (VIIe–XIIe s.).»
Byzantina Symeikta 13 (1999), pp. 9–22.
Bibliography 279
Olson, Alexander. “Working with Roman History: Attaleiates’ Portrayal of the

Normans.” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 41.1 (2017), pp. 1–14.
Ostrogorsky, George. History of the Byzantine State, Rev. ed. (Oxford: Blackwell,
2002).
Papaioannou, Stratis. “Das Briefcorpus des Michael Psellos: Vorarbeiten zu einer
kritischer Edition; mit einem Anhang: Edition eines unbekannten Briefes.”
JÖB 48 (1998), pp. 67–117.
———. “Michael Psellos on Friendship and Love: Erotic Discourse in Eleventh-
Century Constantinople.” Early Medieval Europe 19.1 (2011), pp. 43–61.
Parani, Maria. Reconstructing the Reality of Images: Byzantine Material Culture
and Religious Iconography (11th–15th Centuries) (Leiden: Brill, 2003).
Parker, A. J. Ancient Shipwrecks of the Mediterranean and the Roman Provinces
(Oxford: British Archaeological Reports, 1992).
Polemis, Demetrios I. “Notes on Eleventh Century Chronology (1059–1081).”
Byzantinische Zeitschrift 58 (1965), pp. 60–76.
Pryor, John H. “Shipping and Seafaring.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.), The
Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2008), pp. 482–91.
Reinert, Stephen W. “The Muslim Presence in Constantinople, 9th–15th
Centuries: Some Preliminary Observations.” In Hélène Ahrweiler and
Angeliki E. Laiou (ed.), Studies on the Internal Diaspora of the Byzantine
Empire (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1998), pp. 125–50.
Ringrose, Kathryn. “The Byzantine Body.” In Judith M. Bennett and Ruth
Mazo Karras (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Women and Gender in Medieval
Europe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), pp. 362–78.
Rose, Mark and Şengül Aydingün. “Under Istanbul.” Archaeology 60.4 (July/
August 2007), pp. 34–40.
Saradi, Helen. “The Byzantine Tribunals: Problems in the Application of Justice
and State Policy (9th–12th c.).” Revue des études byzantines 53 (1995),
pp. 165–204.
Sathas, Konstantinos N. (ed.). Mesaionike Bibliotheke V (Venice: Typois tou
Chronou, 1872–1894).
Shepard, Jonathan. “Aspects of Byzantine Attitudes and Policy Towards the West
in the Tenth and Eleventh Centuries.” Byzantinische Forschungen 13 (1988),
pp. 174–97.
———. “When Greek Meets Greek: Alexius Comnenus and Bohemond in
1097–8.” BMGS 12 (1988), pp. 185–277.
———. “The Uses of the Frank in Eleventh-Century Byzantium.” Anglo-
Norman Studies 15 (1992–1993), pp. 275–305.
———. “Byzantine Relations with the Outside World.” In Leslie Brubaker (ed.),
Byzantium in the Ninth Century: Dead or Alive? (London: Ashgate, 1998),
pp. 167–80.
280 Bibliography
———. (ed.). Cambridge History of the Byzantine Empire (c. 500–1492)

Schäfer, Jörg. Phaselis: Beiträge zur Topographie und Geschichte der Stadt und
ihrer Häfen (Tübingen: Wasmuth, 1981).
Schlumberger, Gustave L. Sigillographie de l’ Empire Byzantin (Paris: Ernest
Leroux, 1884).
Simon, Dieter and Angeliki E. Laiou. Law and Society in Byzantium: Ninth-
Twelfth Centuries (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 1994).
Sinclair, Thomas A. Eastern Turkey: An Architectural and Archaeological Survey
(London: The Pindar Press, 1987).
Smythe, Dion C. (ed.). Strangers to Themselves: The Byzantine Outsider: Papers
from the Thirty-Second Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies, University of
Sussex, Brighton, March 1998 (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2000).
Stephenson, Paul. Byzantium’s Balkan Frontier: A Political Study of the Northern
Balkans, 900–1204 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000).
———. The Legend of Basil the Bulgar-Slayer (New York: Cambridge University
Press, 2003).
———. “The Tomb of Basil II.” In Lars M. Hoffmann (ed.), Zwischen Polis,
Provinz und Peripherie. Beiträge zur byzantinischen Geschichte und Kultur,
Mainzer Veröffentlichungen zur Byzantinistik 7 (Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz,
2005), pp. 227–38.
Stolte, Bernard. “Justice: Legal Literature.” In Elizabeth Jeffreys et al. (ed.),
2008), pp. 691–98.
Talbert, Richard (ed.). Barrington Atlas of the Greek and Roman World
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000).
Talbot, Alice-Mary, and Papaconstantinou Arietta (ed.), Becoming Byzantine:
Children and Childhood in Byzantium (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks,
2009).
Thomas, John P. (ed.). Private Religious Foundations in the Byzantine Empire
Toufexis, Notis. “Diglossia and Register Variation in Medieval Greek.” Byzantine
and Modern Greek Studies 32.2 (2008), pp. 203–17.
Treadgold, Warren. A History of the Byzantine State and Society (Stanford, CA:
Stanford University Press, 1997).
———. Byzantium and Its Army, 284–1081 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University
Press, 1998).
Troianos, Spyridon. Οι Πηγές του Βυζαντινού Δικαίου (Athens: Sakoulas, 1999).
van Doorninck, Frederick, Jr., “Byzantine Shipwrecks.” In Angeliki Laiou (ed.),
The Economic History of Byzantium: From the Seventh Through the Fifteenth
Century (Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2002), pp. 899–905.
Bibliography 281
Vlyssidou, Vassiliki (ed.). The Empire in Crisis (?), Byzantium in the Eleventh
Century (1025–1081) (Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research, 2003).
Vryonis, Speros, Jr. “Byzantine Imperial Authority: Theory and Practice in the
Eleventh Century.” In Georges Makdisi (ed.), La notion d’ authorité au
Moyen Age: Islam, Byzance, Occident (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France,
1982), pp. 141–61.
Ward-Perkins, Bryan. “Can the Survival of an Ancient Town-Plan Be Used as
Evidence of Dark-Age Urban Life?” In Guiliana Cavalieri Manasse and
Elisabetta Roffia (ed.), Splendida civitas nostra: studi archeologici in onore di
Antonio Frova (Rome: Quasar, 1995), pp. 223–29.
Weiss, Gunter. Ostromische Beamte im Spiegel der Schriften des Michael Psellos
(Munich: Institut für Byzantinistik und Neugriechische Philologie der
Universität, 1973).
Wharton Epstein, Ann. “The Date and Significance of the Cathedral of Canosa
in Apulia, South Italy.” Dumbarton Oaks Papers 37 (1983), pp. 79–90.
Whittow, Mark. “Rural Fortification in Western Europe and Byzantium, Tenth
to Twelfth Century.” Byzantinische Forschungen 21 (1995), pp. 64–67.
———. The Making of Orthodox Byzantium, 600–1025 (London: Palgrave
Macmillan, 1996).
Wilson, Nigel. Scholars of Byzantium (London: Duckworth, 1983).
Wolska-Conus, Wanda. “Les écoles de Psellos et de Xiphilin sous Constantin IX
Monomaque.” Travaux et Mémoires 6 (1976), pp. 223–43.
———. “L’école de droit et renseignement du droit à Byzance au Xle siècle:
Xiphilin et Psellos.” Travaux et Mémoires 7 (1979), pp. 1–107.
Index
A Arethas, metropolitan of Kaisareia, 47

Achilles Tatios, 247 Aristotle, 85
Adriatic Sea, 18, 192 Armenia, 16, 146, 162, 174, 178,
Aegean Sea, 16, 64, 65, 76, 142, 183, 189, 258
144 Armeniakon theme, 155, 156, 257
Agathias, 45, 227, 231, 262 Armenians, 17, 20, 30, 62, 64, 147,
Ai Giorgi Kiparissa, 51, 52 153, 163, 167, 174, 183, 249
Albans, 152, 154, 157 Armenopoulos, Konstantinos, 50, 248
Aleppo, 16, 34, 139, 147, 166, 167 Asia Minor, 1, 2, 16, 17, 34–36, 57,
Alexios I Komnenos, 8, 14, 221 58, 66, 67, 71, 75, 76, 93, 111,
Amaseia, 157, 199 140, 141, 145, 146, 150, 153,
Anatolia, 29, 62, 67, 135, 148, 150, 156, 179, 199, 258
156, 157, 161, 163, 165–168, Aspendos, 59, 60
175, 177, 179–181, 258 Attaleia, 5, 11, 44, 45, 55–71, 75–77,
Anatolikon theme, 170 87, 116, 141, 142, 144, 249
Andromache (by Euripides), 45 Attalos II, 57
Antalya, 11, 61 Azerbaijan, 15
Anthypatos, 3, 44, 125, 237
Antioch, 16, 17, 34, 58, 166–168,
195, 238 B
Anti-Taurus Mountains, 55, 58, 59 Babel, 19, 63, 181
Aqueduct of Valens, 92 Balkans, 8, 17, 22, 23, 34, 161, 172,
Arabs, 64, 166 179, 184, 192, 193, 246
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-04525-8
284 Index
Bari, 35 91, 95, 105, 107, 108, 112, 115,

Basileios I, 15, 22, 78 116, 123, 130, 132, 136, 142–145,
Basileios II (son of Romanos II), 148, 149, 156, 157, 161, 168, 175,
13–15, 20, 22, 26, 28, 35, 64, 177, 189, 193, 196, 200, 212, 215,
70, 124, 125, 151, 167, 221, 245 222, 235, 239, 251, 253, 255
Basileios Maleses, 5, 50, 129, 137, Continuator of Theophanes, 158
148, 215, 239 Covered Hippodrome, 12, 88, 93,
Basilika, 50, 121, 122, 229, 230 133, 146, 238, 245
Bithynia, 222 Crete, 16, 66, 142, 226, 228
Black Sea, 1, 31 Cyclops, 66
The Blues, 133 Cyprus, 16, 57, 66, 75, 141
Book of the Eparch, 18, 108, 143
Bosporus, 58, 101, 180
Botaneiates, Nikephoros, 22, 37, 67, D
87, 149, 155, 194, 199, 203, Dalmatian coast, 15
207, 217, 230 Danube, 15, 22, 34, 192
Bryennios, Nikephoros, 109, 183, De administrando impe
192, 195, 204, 260 rio (by Konstantinos VII
Bulgarians, 17, 19, 20, 28, 154, 172 Porphyrogennetos), 39, 73, 159
Deljan, 79
Diataxis, 42–45, 50, 104–107, 110,
C 113, 115, 116, 123, 126, 206,
Cairo, 64 207, 210–213, 227, 247, 253,
Capture of Jerusalem (by Josephus), 45 260
Caucasus, 15, 148 Diodoros of Sicily, 45, 247
Chalkedon, 194, 219 Dionysios of Halicarnassos, 45
Charistikarioi, 261 Doukai Family, 129
Charistike, 110, 253, 261 Doux, 152, 192, 193, 195, 237
Charistikion, 110, 259 Droungai, 62
Chlamys, 169 Droungarios toy Kolpou, 62
Chliat, 174, 179, 182, 184 Duden, 59
Choniates, Niketas, 95, 113, 196, 197
ChristophorosMytilinaios, 5, 6, 9, 23,
40, 81, 88, 98, 99, 117, 123, E
137, 223 Egypt, 17, 63
Chronographia (by Psellos), 25, 49, Ephesos, 77, 230
129, 150, 191, 243, 251 Epi ton deeseon, 148, 237
Church of the Archangel, 108 Epi ton Kriseon, 32, 123, 237, 238
Circus maximus, 12 Eraseistratos, 85
Clermont, 8 Eudokia Makremvolitisa, 127
Column of Arkadios, 78 Euphrates, 163–166
Constantinople, 1, 2, 5, 8, 12, 15, 18, Euripides, 45
19, 23, 30, 36, 44, 50, 58, 62, 63, Europe, 15, 78, 115, 212, 257
65, 69, 70, 75, 79–81, 86, 88, 90, Eurymedon, 58, 59
Index 285
Eustathios of Thessalonike, 261 Ioannes I Tzimiskes, 14

Eustathios Romaios, 5, 124–126, Ionian Sea, 18
128, 254 Iran, 22
Isaakios I Komnenos, 22, 230, 262
Isauria, 62
F Isaurians, 20
Fabii Family, 198 Istanbul, 51, 52, 58, 91, 93, 250
Flavius Josephus, 210 Italians, 18, 20, 21, 23, 63, 64, 156,
Forum Amastrianon, 92, 93 179, 246, 253
Forum of Arkadios, 89, 91 Italy, 19, 23, 24, 35, 37, 47, 152, 154,
Forum of Constantine, 93, 95, 143, 155, 157, 238, 246, 260
197
Forum of Theodosios, 78, 91
Franks/Frankish peoples, 154, 246, 257 J
Jews, 12, 231
Jews, Karaite, 64
G Jews, Rabanite, 64
Galen, 85
Germanikeia, 163, 165
Golden Gate, 78, 89, 92, 145 K
Golden Horn, 58, 78, 92, 143 Kaisar, 28, 195, 238
The Greens, 133 Kaisareia, 163, 172
Greek Anthology, 87, 103 Kappadokia, 58, 148, 161, 162, 178,
179
Katepano, 62, 63, 141, 183, 238
H Katotika (Theme of Hellas), 129
Hagarenes, 60 Kazhdan, Alexander, 243, 244, 246,
Hagia Sophia, 18, 78, 95, 145 248, 254, 255, 258, 262
Hele(ei)nopolis, 180 Kekaumenos, 150
Hellespont, 60, 77, 169 Kestros, 58, 59, 141
Heria, 180 Kibyrraiotai Theme, 62
Hierapolis, 97, 147, 165–167, 183 Kilikia, 16, 17, 58, 66, 168
Hieria, 169, 170 Klasma/ta, 109, 238
Hippodrome, 1, 11, 12, 95, 97, 125, Kleisoura/ai, 238
136, 139, 142, 143 Koloneia, 163
Histories (by Agathias), 45, 227 Komnene, Anna, 154, 193, 198, 199,
Holy Mother of God Eleousa, 108 205
Homer, 59, 69, 127 Komnenoi Family, 48, 198, 203–206,
House of Toxaras, 30 215, 217, 236
Konstantinos Porphyrogennetos, 60
Konstantinos VII Porphyrogennetos,
I 21, 128, 131, 153, 255
Ibn Hauqal, 59 Konstantinos VIII (son of Romanos
Ikonion, 176 II), xvii
286 Index
Konstantinos IX Monomachos, 82, Michael VI Bringas or Stratiotikos, 34,

125 162
Konstantinos X Doukas, 169 Michael VII Doukas, son of
Kos, 62, 77, 141 Konstantinos X Doukas, 7, 36,
Krites tou stratopedou, 150, 238, 256 49, 121, 190, 194, 199, 230
Kyzikos, 60 Miletos, 257
Modios/oi, 211, 212
Mt Lebanon, 62
L Muslims, 17, 19, 27, 64, 231
Lake Van, 1, 174, 179, 182 Myra, 64
Latin/s, 8, 11, 63, 97, 152–154, 156, Mystographos, 105, 108, 115, 239
157, 244, 246, 255
Leichoudes and Xiphilinos, 31, 98
Leon VI, the Wise, 60, 68, 121, 123, 225 N
Leon the Deacon, 73 Neokaisareia, 164
Leon Diakonos, 40, 45, 247 Neorion, 78
Lestrigones, 66 New York, 19
Leukippe and Kleitophon, 86, 98, 247 Nicholas I Mystikos, 39, 159
Lips Baboulou, 107 Nikaia, 107
Logothetes, 124, 238 Nikephoros II Phokas, 14, 66, 226
Logothetes ton hydaton, 239 Nikephoros III Botaneiates, 3, 7, 36, 41
Lucian, 186 Nomisma/ta, 42, 93, 101, 107, 111,
Lykaonians, 172, 173 116, 117, 133, 211, 212
Nomophylax, 32, 125
Normans, 21, 22, 24, 25, 35, 37, 152,
M 154, 155, 157, 165, 179, 246,
Magistros, 87, 183, 207, 239 257
Manasses, Konstantinos, 48, 173
Mantzikert, 6, 13, 36, 148, 152, 153,
167, 174, 179, 182, 183, 189, O
205, 258 Oikos/oikoi, 113–115, 257
Mauropous, Ioannes, 7, 26, 31, 51, 145
Mediterranean Sea, 5, 15, 24, 52, 57,
63–66, 70, 78, 168, 227 P
Melitene, 16, 163, 165, 166, 179 Palestine, 22, 63, 167
Menander (the comedian), xix Pamphylia, 17, 62, 101
Mese, 88, 89, 91, 93, 97, 143, 145 Panion, 194
Mesopotamia, 15, 16, 22, 163, 166, Panoiktirmon monastery, 116, 209, 217
167, 176, 238, 258 Pantokrator Typikon, 210
Michael IV the Paphlagonian, 22, 28, Paris, 49, 82
35, 79, 82, 143, 195, 251 Patrikios, 11, 44, 116, 124, 125, 130–
1041–1042 Michael V Kalaphates, xvii 135, 155, 170, 171, 204, 239
Index 287
Patzinakoi, 21, 22, 25, 31, 34, 146, Romanos IV Diogenes, 25, 47, 139,
162, 179, 184, 192, 246 203, 206
Peira, 124–126, 242, 253 Rome, 8, 12, 47, 90, 91, 121, 139,
Pergamon, 57 151, 152, 166, 177, 179, 184,
Perge, 59 189, 191, 197, 198, 231, 245
Photios, 86 Rouselios, 8, 152, 153, 155–157, 257
Plato, 47
Polybios, 45, 47, 140, 168, 231, 247
Ponema Nomikon, 50, 190, 229, 248 S
Pontic Alps, 1 Saracens, 64, 66, 142, 226
Porphyry column of Constantine, 78, 96 Satala, 163
Praipositos, 133, 214, 216, 239 Scipiones Family, 198
Prokopios, 108, 110, 140, 222, 231, Scythians, 184
262 Sea of Marmara, 67, 77, 90
Protasekretis, 148, 239 Seismobrontologeion, 85, 86
Protospatharios, 83, 107, 124, 135, 239 Sekreta, 41, 149
Protospatharisai, 106, 113 Seljuqs, 2, 21, 22, 25, 36, 140, 156,
Psamatheia, 78, 88, 97, 113, 115, 212 161, 164, 175, 192
Psellos, Michael, 5, 25, 32, 48, 51, 56, Selymbria, 77, 108
69, 80, 88, 105, 128, 129, 145, Seth, Symeon, 5, 17, 50, 83, 190, 235
148, 150, 157, 166, 170, 176, Sicily, 15, 22–24, 35, 45, 64, 247, 257
208, 215, 219, 221, 242, 243, Side, 59
248, 252, 256 Skylitzes, Ioannes, 22, 49, 196
Ptolemy, 85 St George of the Cypresses, 51, 52
St Georgios (in Rhaidestos), 108, 110,
115
Q St Ioannes (in Constantinople), 125
Queen of Cities, 19, 28, 36, 81, 106, St Ioannes (in Rhaidestos), 108, 113
114, 115, 122, 142, 143, 171, 215 St Nikolaos of Phalkon (in
Rhaidestos), 108
St Prokopios (in Rhaidestos), 108,
R 110
Raidestos, 105 Stethatos, Niketas, 222, 223, 235, 262
Republic/republican, 4, 8, 12, 17, 31, Stoudios Monastery, 78, 88, 89, 222
67, 77, 122, 132, 151, 190, 191, Strategikon (by Maurikios), 186
197–199, 203, 229, 230, 244, Sylaion, 59
259, 260 Symeon Metaphrastes (the Translator),
Rhaidestos, 108 124
Romanitas, 150, 257 Symeon the New Theologian, 222
Romanos I Lekapenos, 70, 92 Synopsis Historion, 22
Romanos II (son of Konstantinos Syria, 16, 17, 22, 34, 35, 62, 63, 116,
VII), xvii 141, 146, 147, 162, 165–167,
Romanos III Argyros, 27 169, 249, 258
288 Index
T V
Tagma/ta, 143, 162, 175, 239, 240 Varangians, 19, 22
Taktika (by Leon VI), 249 Velum, 1, 11, 12, 44, 49, 123, 128,
Tarsos, 16, 58, 142, 168 139, 146, 238
Taurus, 55, 58, 59 Very Holy Mother of Daphne (in
Taurus Mountains, 55, 58, 59 Rhaidestos), 108
Taxis, 136, 178, 189, 230 Vestes, 125, 240
Thema/ta, 238–240
Theodora (Zoe’s sister), 26, 30, 31,
33, 215 X
Theodosioupolis, 16, 163, 179, 180 Xenophon, 45
Theophanes Confessor, 268
Thessalonike, 61, 261
Thrace, 77, 107, 115, 193, 217 Z
Thucydides, 45, 47, 140, 247 Zoe (daughter of Konstantinos VIII),
Trebizond (Trapezous), 1, 185, 189, 23, 26–28, 30, 31, 60, 79, 195,
193 196, 251
Turkey, 11, 140, 250
Turkmenistan, 22
Turks, 22, 34, 90, 135, 153, 155,
157, 164, 176, 177, 183, 184
Tzetzes, Ioannes, 63

(New Approaches To Byzantine History and Culture) Dimitris Krallis - Serving Byzantium's Emperors - The Courtly Life and Career of Michael Attaleiates-Palgrave Macmillan (2019) PDF

Uploaded by

Document Information

Original Title

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

(New Approaches To Byzantine History and Culture) Dimitris Krallis - Serving Byzantium's Emperors - The Courtly Life and Career of Michael Attaleiates-Palgrave Macmillan (2019) PDF

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

NEW APPROACHES TO BYZANTINE HISTORY AND CULTURE

More information about this series at

New Approaches to Byzantine History and Culture

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018962359

Cover illustration: © Heritage Image Partnership Ltd/Alamy Stock Photo

[Our enemy], quills and inkwells in hand, imitated scribbling in tomes,

Byzantine writers apparently loved lush meadows. To the encomiast

of this book on a word processor’s luminous white page while sitting on

Vancouver, Canada Dimitris Krallis

2 Attaleiates’ Time: Byzantium in the Eleventh Century 11

3 Paper, Parchment, and Ink: The Sources

4 Attaleia: The Busy, Bustling Fringe 55

5 To the Capital Seeking Wisdom 75

6 Attaleiates’ Household 101

7 The Courts of Justice, the Court, and the Courtiers 121

8 The Army in Society. The Society of the Army 139

9 The Judge on Horseback: The Empire at War 161

10 Byzantine “Republicanism”: Attaleiates’ Politics

11 Piety, Tax-Heavens and the Future of the Family 203

12 Culture Wars and a Judge’s Roman Piety 219

13 A Short Conclusion 235

Bibliographical Essays 241

Anna Komnene, Alexiad Anna Komnene. Annae Comnenae

Mytilinaios Christophoros  . Bernard and C. Livanos,

Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025 14

1055–1056 Theodora (Zoe’s sister)

In a time of culturally sensitive readers, scholars should phase out the

To keep the account of Attaleiates’ life as continuous as possible I opted

A stunning panorama of the thickly forested Pontic Alps rising sharply as

© The Author(s) 2019 1

even, sometimes, a sense of their approach to justice. Attaleiates, how-

Byzantines themselves called Romanía (the land of the Romans), was

appearances in his own historical narrative in an attempt to highlight

of chronological order. However, as anyone who has ever attempted

Attaleiates’ Time: Byzantium

“What’s in a name,” asks Juliet. She is in love with Romeo Montague,

© The Author(s) 2019 11

expansion of a dynamic and legendarily affluent Islamic world. By the

Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025

previously devastated by war. People who had taken refuge on craggy

Fig. 2.2 A Nordic name carved on Hagia Sophia’s marble banister

Saracen visitors to the capital found places of worship for Muslims,

Themes and Questions in the Study

It is an undeniable fact that Basileios II, the so-called Bulgar-slayer, is

Histories and chronicles written at the time, the medieval equivalent of

century, these ferocious itinerant warriors found themselves under pres-

I Maniakes speak from the grave to all men:

The Normans proved adept players in the European geopolitical

becomes essential. The focus on members of Attaleiates’ class allows us

Some Facts and a Few Events

The radiant foursome of the brothers

Psellos comprehensively caricatures Michael about whom we learn that he

Roman polity as a realm of justice. The Consul of the Philosophers, a new

jurisprudence right at the time when Monomachos stirred things up in

likely affected by Isaakios’ trimming of state salaries, openly expressed

Widening our field of vision, it is necessary to point out that Romanos’

Fig. 2.3 Map of Romanía in 1081

the Norman leader, only failed when Nikephoros Botaneiates toppled

The Medieval Academy of America, 1953), pp. 65 and 75 regarding

25.  Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaelis Pselli: Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,

Paper, Parchment, and Ink: The Sources

From May seventh to May fourteen 1079 a document bearing the

© The Author(s) 2019 41

Anna Komnene, Alexiad Anna Komnene. Annae Comnenae

Mytilinaios Christophoros . Bernard and C. Livanos,

Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025 14

Fig. 2.1 Map of Romanía in 1025

Fig. 2.2 A Nordic name carved on Hagia Sophia’s marble banister

Themes and Questions in the Study

Some Facts and a Few Events

Fig. 2.3 Map of Romanía in 1081

25. Leendert G. Westerink (ed.), Michaelis Pselli: Poemata (Leipzig: Teubner,

Paper, Parchment, and Ink: The Sources

Fig. 3.1 Opening page of Attaleiates’ Diataxis

Fig. 3.2 Attaleiates’ ring from the Dumbarton Oaks collections

Fig. 3.3 St. George of the Cypresses

Fig. 4.1 Hadrian’s Gate in Attaleia—Antalya, Turkey

15. Hansgerd Hellenkemper and Friedrich Hild, TIB 8: Lykien und

Fig. 5.1 Exoticism on the palace floors

Fig. 5.2 Map of Constantinople

Fig. 5.3 The aqueduct of Valens

Fig. 5.5 The porphyry column of Constantine

3. Claudio de Stefani (ed.), Silentiarius, Paulus: Descriptio Sanctae Sophiae,

22. Anthony R. Littlewood (ed.), Michaelis Pselli Oratoria Minora (Leipzig:

8. Elizabeth Jeffreys, Four Byzantine Novels: Agapetus—Theodore Prodromos;

28. Kaldellis, Mothers and Sons, Fathers and Daughters, p. 172 letter to

The Courts of Justice, the Court,

in turn reinforced by the stipulation of Basilika 7.6.11–12. This one repro